My Only Sunshine
by AvengerGirl17
Summary: Clarke Griffin left Arkadia in search of a better life in New York. She has a great job at a small gallery, a crappy apartment, her roommate- Bellamy Blake- drives her crazy, and to top it all off she might just be falling in love with him! Can they heal each other, or is destruction their only fate? MODERN AU DISCLAIMER: I do not own anything publicly recognizable about the 100
1. Chapter 1

**Ok, I may super regret posting before I have enough chapters laid out but I'm too excited! I can't sit on this one any longer and I'm hoping y'all can help me get motivated to write! So, here is my newest BELLARKE chapter fic! Hope y'all enjoy! :D**

 **Chapter 1**

"Clarke this is literally the stupidest thing you've ever done," Raven grumbled as she lugged the final box up the stairs to her friend's dingy little two-bedroom apartment.

"You sound just like my mom," Clarke muttered, trying to balance her box and open the door.

It stuck, and she had to use a bit more force to get the old wooden door to open. The white paint was peeling, sloughing off to embed in the ragged carpet at her feet.

The hallway smelled like death and water damage, but thankfully her apartment only wreaked of dust and peeling plaster. The floors were scarred hardwood, no shine or luster to be found.

The walls were a sad grey that Clarke imagined was once a pristine white. She wasn't allowed to paint, so they would remain as they were. Her furniture consisted of an old dilapidated leather couch, one crooked coffee table, and a rickety dinette set. She'd bought an air mattress since she couldn't afford a bedroom suit, and she would just have to live out of her suitcases and boxes for the time being.

"This is a dump," Raven said, crossing her arms and scrunching her nose.

Wick stumbled through the door then, his arms filled with an easel and several blank canvases.

"Just set those in the corner by the window," Clarke instructed, surveying the sad little hovel she now called home.

"You can't stay here," Raven continued on her rant, "I won't allow it!"

"Now you really do sound like my mother," Clarke replied darkly.

Clarke wasn't really that fond of her mother at the moment. Her father had been killed only two months ago, yet she'd found out that her mother had pretty much pulled the trigger.

After that little revelation she realized that she couldn't be around her mother without thinking of her father, and it was just too painful. So, she'd picked up and moved out.

Now here she was, living in this roach infested fleapit and working at the café that Raven and Wick owned. She'd sold two paintings to one of the smaller galleries in town since she'd moved, and despite her current living conditions, she hadn't felt this right in a long while.

"I know it's bad now, but as soon as I can find a second job I'll move to a better part of town," Clarke said as she began to unpack the meager kitchen supplies she owned- a dented sauce pan and a heavy cast iron skillet, both from a small thrift store down the road.

"I don't see why you couldn't just keep living with me," Raven pouted, arranging the plastic plates and cutlery in one of the cabinets.

Clarke looked up at her with a raised brow, "You're newly weds, Rae! You don't need a houseguest right now- especially one who has no idea what to do with her life. No, believe me, this is for the best."

"You're impossible," Raven said with a roll of her eyes, "Tell her it would be fine Kyle!"

Wick stared at his wife of exactly two weeks, knowing that when she used his first name it meant serious business.

"We'd love for you to stay with us Clarke, it really wouldn't be any trouble," Wick said sweetly, genuinely.

"Thank you both, but I have to do this," Clarke said, breaking down the cardboard box in her hands to start a pile for the ones that would inevitably follow.

"Fine," Raven huffed, "But so help me Clarke, if anyone here tries to hurt you call me and I'll send Wick."

Clarke wanted to laugh at the look her statement brought to Wick's face. Granted he was a very fit man, but he wasn't a fighter. He used his brains, not his fists.

"I'll be fine, Rae," Clarke said, shoving her friends out the door, "I'll see you tomorrow at work."

After the door was firmly shut behind them, Clarke went back to her unpacking. It was a long and arduous chore, and she couldn't imagine what it would have been like if she'd had more stuff. As it was, her meager belongings were put away well before midnight.

She then turned her attention to the air mattress, hoping and praying that it came with an electric pump. She opened the box, pulling out the large plastic blow up, and to her utter delight a small black compressor.

It took about five minutes to get the mattress blown up, the plastic squeaking as she put her sheets on. She arranged her comforter and pillows then went in search of her box of nightclothes and undergarments.

When she found them, Clarke took out a pair of underwear and an oversized t-shirt. She did some more rummaging before she found the towels, heading to take a shower in the one small bathroom settled between the two bedrooms.

The warm water soothed her aching muscles, rinsing away the stress of the day. After she was finished, she dried off and got dressed. That's when the singing started- a high pitched warbling that dipped and rose with the trills of a badly performed Ave Maria.

Clarke stood in the narrow hall just outside her bedroom, resisting the urge to put her fingers in her ears. She decided against calling the police, knowing she couldn't get away with saying she "thought someone was being murdered…" So instead, she dug out her Bluetooth speakers.

She'd just gotten it hooked up in her bedroom, the soft lilting notes of a blues melody drowning out the pitiful Ave Maria that filtered through the ceiling, when a knock sounded at her door.

Clarke pulled on a pair of shorts, her damp towel wrapped around her blonde curls to form a terry turban. She padded on bare feet to the door, wishing for a peephole as she unbolted the lock.

She opened the door a crack, peaking out to stare at the man standing at her doorstep. He was short and balding, wisps of dark blonde hair combed over in an attempt to cover his shining scalp.

His clothes were rumpled; greasy food stains marring his shirtfront. His lips twitched in a leering smile, beady eyes set in a round face, his formidable girth causing the buttons of his shirt to gap.

"Hello," he said, extending a hand with wriggling sausage fingers, "I'm Earl."

Clarke stared at the man, "Hi."

"And you are," the man asked, his bushy eyebrows waggling suggestively.

"Tired," Clarke said as she slammed the door in the man's face.

"Nice to meet you," Earl yelled.

Clarke quickly locked the door, stepping back to stare at the closed portal.

"What was that," she muttered to herself before shaking her head and making her way back to her bedroom.

She plopped down on her air mattress, her eyes glued to the ceiling. There were noises all around her- the strange yodeling of the woman above her, some kind of power tool across the hall, and it sounded like the couple below her was about to come to blows.

She rolled over with a huff, folding her pillow over her head in an attempt to muffle the sound. She knew that with time she would get used to them, but for right now they seemed deafening.

The next morning Clarke got dressed in a rush, forgetting breakfast all together. She opened her door to find the tenant across the hall, a man who looked to be in his early sixties, standing in the doorway of his apartment watching her.

"Good morning," Clarke said hesitantly, before she hurriedly locked her door and headed for the stairs.

On her way to work, Clarke tallied how much money she was going to need that month. She kept coming up short. Thanks to her Dad, her college had been paid for so she had little to no debt. However, she didn't have enough money coming in to cover her current living arrangements- meager as they were.

By the time she reached Grounder's she was still mulling over her dilemma. She'd been working at the coffee shop for a few months, so she knew what she'd bring in. She also knew what her rent and utilities would be every month, and after doing the math things just weren't adding up in her favor.

"You look well rested this morning," Raven said dryly, taking in Clarke's tangled curls piled in a messy bun and her wrinkled clothing.

Clarke just rolled her eyes, tying on her apron, "It was my first night, it'll get easier."

"Yep," Raven replied, suddenly finding her nails very interesting.

"I do have one problem though," Clarke admitted as she began to clean the glass case that housed their famous crescents and sticky buns.

"Does it include living in a freak show apartment in a dangerous neighborhood? If so, I totally agree… You've got a problem," Raven mocked.

"Oh hush, that's not it. I think I need a roommate," Clarke told her friend.

"You've lived there for twenty-four hours Clarke, and you're already coming to this conclusion," Raven said with a sad shake of her head, "I'm sorry, but the minute any sane person sees the address they're going to run for the hills."

Clarke hated to admit it, but Raven was right.

"I've still gotta try, Rae," Clarke said as she leaned against the counter, "I can't go back to Arkadia."

At this, Raven's features softened, "We'll make sure that doesn't happen. You and I will find the perfect roommate."

"Thanks Rae," Clarke said as she hugged her friend, newfound confidence soaring in her chest.

"Yeah, yeah… You're welcome, now let's get to work."

That afternoon Clarke stood behind Raven where she sat at the computer in the coffee shop's small office. Her nimble fingers flew across the keys as she typed out Clarke's flyer which read- _Seeking roommate. Must be clean, mannerly, and sane. Only decent human beings need apply…_

"We'll put your phone number at the bottom so people can just tear it off," Raven explained as she began to print off a stack of the flyers.

"Are you sure about this? It doesn't make me look too desperate, does it," Clarke asked, still unsure.

"It'll be fine! I've known plenty of people who've done this and it all worked out. Just trust me," Raven said as she handed Clarke the stack.

"I trust you," the blonde said, hugging the papers to her chest.

"Good girl. Now get home before it gets dark," Raven said with a shiver and a grimace.

"I'll be fine, Rae," Clarke said with a placating smile, waving at Wick working at the front counter as she left.

Thankfully Earl was nowhere to be found when she reached the third floor. The creepy old dude from across the hall opened his door a crack as she stopped at her door. She didn't bother to turn around, just bolted into her apartment and locked the door.

Clarke dropped the flyers on her dining table, watching as it quivered slightly in response to the added weight.

"I've got to get that fixed," she mumbled as she made her way to her freezer and pulled out a Mexican TV dinner.

When the microwave dinged, she took her meal and moved to the couch. It was a bit lumpy, and a few springs poked her in the back but it could have been worse.

The TV crackled to life, a sitcom about four nerdy scientists marching across the screen. As she watched, she wished her life were that easy. A job she loved, surrounded by friends she adored, and living in a decent apartment- even if the elevator was broken.

She had her job at the coffee shop, and Raven and Wick, so that was enough. Her apartment was terrible, but she could only go up from here right?

She threw away what remained of her charred enchiladas, the mush too hard to chew. She made her way to her bedroom, changing into her pj's before crawling into bed.

Tomorrow was a brand new day, the day she might possibly find a roommate. The prospects both frightened and excited her. She hadn't really had great luck in the people department, those she loved either leaving her in death or betraying her in some unforgiveable way.

"It's all going to work out," Clarke whispered to her dark, empty bedroom, "Something good is going to come out of this…"

 **Thanks for reading! Please review and tell me what you think and if you want more! I'm hoping reviews will get me back in a writing mood, so anything would be appreciated! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks for the reviews, follows, and fav's guys! This chapter brings in Bellamy, so I'm sure this is what you've all been waiting for! Hope you enjoy it! :)**

 **Chapter 2**

The next day Clarke went all over town hanging up flyers in the establishments frequented by young twenty something's in hopes that one of them was looking for a place to live.

Her last stop was Grounder's; the ancient brick edifice nestled between an antique mall and a bookstore, giving it the perfect atmosphere. The door jangled as she entered, moving to the corkboard and pinning up her last flyer.

"You know you're going to get a lot of prank calls now, right," Raven said with a smirk from behind the counter.

"It was your idea! Plus it was either this or find a nice cardboard box under a bridge somewhere," Clarke deadpanned as she took her "on the house" coffee and moved to an empty booth.

Raven took the seat across from her after yelling at Wick that she was taking a break.

"I think that a cardboard box might be an improvement after seeing that little whole-in-the-wall you call an apartment," Raven said taking a sip from her bottled water.

"It's the only thing I can afford, or almost afford," Clarke groused, "Sure there's a creepy old guy across the hall, and the woman above me is convinced she's the next Italian opera star, but it's a place to live."

"Yeah, a good place to get murdered," Raven said with a shake of her head, "I looked for you on the news last night!"

"You're so morbid," Clarke muttered, wrinkling her nose before taking a long draw from her coffee.

"You're just mad that you can't have me as a roommate," Raven grinned, her eyes roving to where Wick was tinkering with the espresso machine.

"Yeah right," Clarke said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

"Really though, Clarke," Raven began seriously after returning her attention to her blonde friend, "You need a good, dependable roommate. I really do worry about you over on that side of town by yourself."

"I know," Clarke said hanging her head.

She would never admit it, but she had been afraid of the noises she heard at night, and the greasy man in rumpled clothes that stopped her on her way to work certainly didn't help either.

However, in all honesty he wasn't the one who really scared her. The title of scariest belonged to the man who lived across the hall from her. He would just stare at her, and every time she opened her door he was standing right there.

Clarke was so lost in thought that she didn't notice the guy that walked into Grounder's, stopped to look at the flyer then tore off one of the phone number slips. Thankfully Raven was more observant, smacking her on the arm and pointing at the gorgeous man now dialing her number.

She stared at Raven in utter shock, fumbling for her cell phone as it began to ring. The guy looked around, confused for a moment until his gaze fixed on her and she gave him a sheepish smile.

The man didn't return her smile, simply gave a stiff nod before making his way over. Clarke couldn't help but gawk at his chiseled features and black curls that stubbornly fell across his forehead.

She gulped as he stopped at their booth, looking down at her with deep, serious brown eyes.

"Bellamy Blake," he said, extending his hand in greeting.

"Clarke Griffin," she replied, clearing her throat when her voice gave a little squeaky quiver.

"Do you still need a roommate," Bellamy asked almost hesitantly.

"Yeah, you're the first I've spoken to," Clarke said, trying to be subtle as she motioned for Raven to skedaddle.

"I'll just leave you two alone," Raven trailed off as she stood," Would you like anything Bellamy? It's on the house."

"Uh, no thank you," Bellamy replied as he took her vacant seat.

Raven nodded, giving Clarke a thumbs up before making her way back into the kitchen.

"So, I'm going to be very honest," Clarke began, "My apartment sucks. It's on the north side of the city in the Mount Weather addition."

She watched as his eyes widened, his mouth falling open slightly, "You've been living over there alone! I wouldn't let my sis- Uh, I wouldn't let anyone I cared about live alone over there."

Clarke had heard what he'd been about to say, but she let it slide. They were all entitled to some secrets, and she didn't need to know everything about him.

"Yeah, that's kinda why I'm looking for a roommate. That and my rent is literally eating my lunch," she finished lamely.

"Well I'm in a hurry to find a place, but I'm sure you'll need to talk to more people," Bellamy said with what sounded like reluctance.

Clarke looked at him, knowing that what she was about to do could be labeled incredibly stupid, but what else was new? People who obviously cared about sisters they refused to even mention couldn't be that bad… could they?

"No, I think you'll do," Clarke said with a smile, "When can you move in?"

"I need to get some things squared away first. Will Saturday work?"

"Saturday is my day off, so it'll be perfect," Clarke replied with a smile.

Bellamy again didn't return the gesture, just gave another stiff nod before exiting the shop. Clarke watched him go, hoping that she hadn't just adopted another psychopath.

"Well if he murders you, at least he won't be hard on the eyes," Raven yelled from the back.

"Oh shut up," Clarke grumbled, her head falling to the table as she hoped and prayed she hadn't just made monumental mistake number two.

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Moving day was three days later. Bellamy showed up on time with a rented truck, wearing old ripped jeans and a skin tight t-shirt. Clarke didn't complain, telling herself that her good mood was solely based on his punctuality.

His first impression was rather comical as they stood outside the old decrepit building with its graying brick and crooked shutters. The glass doors had been boarded up long ago, and the tile in the entry was chipped and yellow.

He looked at her for a moment, obviously fighting to hold back a grimace.

"It's not much, but it's home," she said with a shrug, leading him up the stairs.

"Let me guess," Bellamy said with a groan, "The elevator doesn't work."

Clarke gave him a sympathetic glance, "No, we don't even have an elevator, but I'm only on the third floor."

"Only she says," she heard him mutter under his breath.

When they reached the third floor, Clarke dreaded what was coming. Earl, the grease bucket in a business suit, was leaning near the ancient vending machines with a leering smile on his face.

"Hey Larkey," Earl purred, making Clarke's skin crawl.

He'd started calling her that a day after learning her name, and she spitefully wondered how long it took the man to come up with that. However, thinking about him thinking about her just gave her the heebie jeebies so she tried to avoid that thought altogether.

"Can it, Earl," Clarke said as she walked by, not giving the man a second glance.

"Fresh meat, I see," the man continued, his short legs following at a much slower pace.

It was then that she noticed that Bellamy was staring at her, and glaring at Earl over his shoulder.

"Does he do this often," Bellamy asked, his voice a low rumble that reminded her of distant thunder.

Clarke wanted to lie and say no, but she nodded, "Yeah, we chat a lot."

Bellamy's scowl only darkened, but he didn't say anything. However, when she turned to unlock the door Earl became unusually quiet. When she turned back around the short, rotund man was scurrying to his apartment down the hall.

Clarke shrugged with a shake of her head, opening the door, "This is it."

She knew what he must be thinking as he looked at the barely furnished apartment. Her couch was old, brown leather cracking with holes worn in various places. Her one coffee table was scarred beyond repair, one leg wobbly and chipped.

She was thankful he wouldn't be seeing the air mattress and crates she'd fashioned into a small dresser. She still didn't have the money to buy bedroom furniture, so she'd made do with what little she could scrounge up.

Clarke grimaced when he moved to the kitchen, opening first one cabinet and then another. She had very few cooking utensils, and she ate off of disposable plates. She did have a few cups and coffee mugs, but that was about it.

"You're running on the bare necessities," he said finally, not a bit of pity in his eyes.

"Yeah, I haven't had the money to really set up house keeping," Clarke admitted.

"Well, I've got a few things," Bellamy replied, turning to face her, "Just please tell me you aren't living off of Ramen noodles…"

"I can't, or I'd be lying," Clarke said with a grin, "I actually really like them."

Bellamy gave her a little smirk, the first time she'd seen his lips quirk in any form of smile since they'd met, and rolled his eyes to her stained white ceiling.

"Does this leak," he asked in horror, staring at one of the dark brown patches.

"Yeah, opera lady's bathtub overflows from time to time…" Clarke replied with a shake of her head.

"I start my new job on Monday. As soon as I save enough, we're getting a new apartment," Bellamy replied, still glaring at the stain.

Clarke felt her mouth fall open at his easy statement, the simple way he determined that they'd be cohabitating for quite some time. She tried to ignore the little flutter in her chest, deciding that he'd just had a slip of the tongue.

"Well, if we're going to get you moved in before dark we'd better hurry. Believe me, you don't want to be out in that hall after the sun goes down," Clarke grimaced.

So they began to carry suitcases, boxes, and various articles of furniture and knickknacks from the rented truck. From what Clarke understood, most of this had come out of a storage unit and belonged to a woman because it smelled of mothballs and she didn't know another man alive who owned a flowery comforter set.

All of his things were placed before the sun set, and they're both settled on the couch with a bowl of Ramen in front of her sketchy television set. Little lines run across the screen, distorting faces and just generally ruining the whole viewing experience.

"Where did you get this thing," Bellamy asked, pointing at the poor excuse of a screen with his plastic spoon.

"Craigslist," Clarke replied, taking a big slurp of residual broth at the bottom of her bowl.

"Please tell me someone went with you," Bellamy asked, his eyes wide.

"I'm not stupid," Clarke grumbled, "My best friend and her husband went with me."

His sigh of relief grated on her nerves, but she didn't say anything- instead turning back to where Sheldon was banging on Penny's door and yelling in his nasally tone.

Soon, she began to yawn. It had been a long day, and she was exhausted. She had work the next morning, which meant she had to be up early.

"Well, I'd better hit the hay," Clarke said as she rose from the couch, "I have to be at work early in the morning."

She watched Bellamy, his mouth opening and closing several times as though he wanted to say something, but wasn't exactly sure how to say it. She stood waiting patiently, her Styrofoam bowl in her hands.

"I need to tell you something," he said quietly, "Something I should have told you before I moved in."

Clarke held her breath, knowing this would be the moment he would tell her he had a shrine in his closet or kicked puppies for fun, but nodded for him to continue.

"I was in the military," he began, "I've been out for a few months, but I have dreams sometimes and what some head shrink deems PTSD."

Bellamy sat silent and still, staring at his hands like he was ashamed. Clarke didn't know what to say, or how to answer. What he'd said didn't change their arrangement, and- as bad as it might seemed- it was a lot better than what she'd been thinking.

"Don't worry, I sleep like the dead," Clarke said, deciding to keep her reply simple and concise, "Goodnight."

His relief told her she'd done the right thing, "Goodnight, Clarke."

 **Thanks for reading! Please review! I love hearing from y'all! :D It really keeps me inspired and makes the writing so much easier!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Thanks for all the love everyone! I'm so glad y'all are enjoying the story! So, without further ado…. I present Chapter 3! :D**

 **Chapter 3**

Clarke sat on the couch, a book open on her lap. The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the heater, the lamp casting a soft glow in the dark living room. Outside the city was beginning to awaken, the sun banishing the bleary grey of early morning with its cheery golden rays.

She was unaccustomed to this, the peace of daybreak. However today she was the early bird for the first time in the three weeks since Bellamy had moved in. In that time she'd learned a few things about her roommate, the first being that he was coldly polite until he warmed up to his surroundings, which took all of one week.

After that he started making himself at home, grouching about the wrinkle in their newspaper while cooking her eggs in the mornings. He was an amazing cook, and was singlehandedly trying to break her of the bad habit of leaving the house with nothing but a granola bar and a to-go cup of coffee.

" _It's not healthy_ ," he'd lectured one morning, waving his spatula around while he tried to make his point.

" _Fine, no more granola bars. Are you happy? Will that make you stop_ ," Clarke begged, grinning when he huffed and mumbled something about her fixing her own breakfast.

She looked down at her book, cringing when his door banged open. She could already tell that this was going to be one of his bad days, and she dreaded it. He'd gotten little sleep last night, and she knew because she hadn't either.

Her past had come back to haunt her, flitting through her dreams like some kind of ghost. She'd relived the terrible time surrounding her father's death, waking to her own choking sobs that she quickly tried to muffle.

Clarke watched as he rounded the corner shirtless, sweat pants slung low on his hips- one pants leg hiked up to his knee. His hair was wild, curls sticking out at odd angles all over his head, and dark purple smudges beneath his eyes.

He made his way to the coffee pot, kicking the cabinet when he found it empty.

"Can you not make coffee," he practically yelled, roughly scooping out the black grounds and filling the glass pot with water.

"Yep, but not with that thing. Last time I checked coffee was your job," Clarke snapped, not in the mood for his temper.

They argued a lot, both of them filled to the brim with anger and needing a release. They'd quickly discovered that their roommate could take the barbed insults and throw them right back.

"You'd starve without me! You know that," Bellamy groused, already grabbing for a skillet and the carton of eggs out of the fridge.

"Would not," Clarke retorted, "Granola bars-"

"Don't even say it," Bellamy hissed, "Those things are going to clog up your arteries! Whoever decided to cover them in chocolate and peanut butter should be ashamed! They're supposed to be healthy, not an oat filled candy bar!"

"I never knew you cared," Clarke said mockingly, one hand over her heart as she feigned surprise.

"Ha-ha-ha," Bellamy taunted, turning back to the stove with a huff.

"You gotta work tonight," Clarke called, tired of arguing for the moment.

"No, do you," Bellamy asked, his voice calm once more.

"I start teaching the art course at the gallery today, and then I've got to work at Grounder's until six," she told him, setting aside her book.

"I'll be sure to wait up then," Bellamy said flippantly.

"You do that, stud," Clarke laughed, coming to lean against the counter near where Bellamy worked at the stove.

"Yeah, and don't you forget it," Bellamy said with a wink, causing Clarke to roll her eyes.

"Sure," Clarke said, swiping a pinch from a bowl of freshly shredded cheese, "I'm gonna take a shower."

"I wanted you out of my kitchen anyway," Bellamy said snootily, "It's impossible to get anything done with you harping in my ear."

Clarke laughed at this, flicking his ear as she walked away.

To many people their relationship would probably be deemed unhealthy, or strange, and to be honest it was probably both. They fought like cats and dogs, and when they weren't fighting they were curled up on their respective sides of the couch, he watching one of his beloved history documentaries and she with her beloved sketchbook.

True they'd only known each other for all of three weeks, but to Clarke it felt like a lot longer. She wasn't ready to say they were best friends, but they were definitely something.

She'd told him about her family just the other night over a plate of his marvelous spaghetti. She didn't tell him all of the sordid details, just about her growing up years and her parents. She didn't mention how it all fell apart.

Clarke didn't take long in the shower, knowing Bellamy would want to take a super hot one after she was done. Some days she wondered if the man even used any cold water.

She toweled off when she was done, braiding her blonde hair down her back after dressing simply in a pair of light wash jeans and her black Grounder's t-shirt. When she made it back to the kitchen she found a plate of eggs and toast complete with a mug of coffee sitting on the table for her.

Clarke shook her head, hoping Bellamy had a good day- he deserved one. She was out the door before he was, glaring at Earl as she passed where the man leaned casually against the door of his apartment.

"Morning Larkey," Earl said, far too chipper.

"Morning," Clarke groused, passing him by without a second glance.

She walked to the bus stop, knowing Bellamy would probably be out in a few moments. Sure enough, five minutes later he was stalking down the steps hat under his arm and his hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets.

He looked handsome in his uniform, the deep blue material doing nothing to hide his musculature. His curls were tamed somewhat, blowing this way and that in the cold breeze.

"This thing runs later and later every day," Bellamy grumbled as he came to stand beside her.

"No, it runs the same time every day. Indra's never late," Clarke said, rubbing her hands together in a desperate move to warm them.

Bellamy simply grunted, his gaze scanning the busy street in search of the big blue and white bus. He gave a relieved sigh when the bus pulled up, patiently waiting for her to board first before following.

"Thank goodness," he said as they took a seat, "Kane'll have my head if I'm late."

"You late," Clarke said with a gasp, "That's unimaginable!"

And in truth it was. Bellamy's military background made him perfectly punctual. That was one perk, Clarke was never late because he had them both up and moving at a decent hour every morning mainly because she'd found she couldn't sleep through his grumbling and clanging in the kitchen.

They sat in comfortable silence until Clarke's stop came up.

"I'll see you tonight," she said, getting up to disembark.

"I'll drop by at lunch with Miller," Bellamy called after her.

"Sounds good! See you then," Clarke had to yell back, already standing on the sidewalk.

Indra gave her a dirty look, to which the little blonde simply shrugged with a guilty grin, waving as the bus pulled away.

The little gallery had been the only place where she'd been able to sell any of her pieces. The owner, Lincoln, was a nice guy and he offered fair prices. He'd asked her to give an art class, and since she and Bellamy needed the money she'd agreed.

"Hello," Clarke called, stepping into the brightly lit entry.

Lincoln stuck his head out of his office, smiling brightly, "Good morning, Clarke. Thanks again for doing this."

"I really don't mind, and the money doesn't hurt," she chuckled.

"I remember those days," Lincoln smiled, "Starving artist is never fun."

"Well my roommate won't let me starve, but he hates our apartment so the sooner we can get out the better," Clarke shrugged.

"Well let's get you started then," Lincoln said as he led her back to a small studio, "You'll have a group of adults in the morning two days a week."

"I can handle that," she nodded, glancing around the tidy space. There were chairs and easels set up, supplies lining the shelves along one wall. She could definitely do this.

"If you need anything just yell," Lincoln grinned, "They'll be here in about an hour." He left her with a wave, leaving her to wait for her students.

She walked to the front of the room, taking a seat on the worn stool that sat before an easel set with a large drawing pad. She racked her brain, trying to decide on a starting point. She wanted something simple, but nothing that would bore them.

Of their own accord Clarke's fingers reached for the graphite pencil lying on the easel ledge. She allowed her mind to work out her plan of attack while her hands created soft strokes that slowly began to take shape.

Thirty minutes later a face stared back at her from the stiff paper- soft, dark curls framing an angular face, soulful eyes, and a small smirk she wished would appear more often. He was beautiful, artistically speaking- the perfect model.

Clarke had no time to ponder on her choice of subject as her students began to arrive. As the room filled, she found herself slightly astonished. She didn't know what she'd expected, but it definitely wasn't this.

At the front, giggling like a pair of school girls, were two older women who had to be in their eighties. Their hair had a blue tint, eyes crinkling with their smiles, and bony, wrinkled hands. They both gave her bright smiles as she passed, introducing themselves as Hazel and Trish.

Next Clarke shook hands with an elderly man, his tweed golf cap tipped back as he grinned at her.

"Chuck Williams," he held out his hand.

"Clarke Griffin," she said, surprised at his grip.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Griffin," Chuck nodded with a wink, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.

Clarke gave him a soft smile, moving on to her last row of students. Two middle-aged women whispered back and forth, makeup caked on their faces. It looked like they'd applied their eye shadow with a butter knife, and she didn't see how they held their eyes open.

"Ladies," she greeted as she passed.

"I thought the owner would be teaching this class."

Clarke fought the urge to laugh out loud, "No, Lincoln's busy with gallery business so I offered to take over the course."

"Oh, well then I don't think I'm interested," one huffed, grabbing her purse and marching to the door as the other woman followed in her wake.

Clarke shrugged, finishing her introductions with a young woman who looked to be about her age.

"Hi, I'm Clarke," she said with a warm smile.

The woman looked skittish, her light brown eyes filled with uncertainty as her hands twisted anxiously in her lap. She had a soft face, her reddish brown curls brushing her cheeks. She looked young, and afraid.

"Charlotte," the woman replied with a tiny smile.

"I'm happy you're here, Charlotte," Clarke said before making her way back up to her easel, "Alright everyone, I thought today we could begin with shading."

She turned her easel around so they could easily see the portrait she'd drawn of Bellamy. She grinned at the mystified gazes of her female students; even Charlotte seemed a bit awed.

For the next hour she taught them different shading techniques and how to properly use them. She had them draw different shapes, then use the things she'd just taught them to create different affects.

Clarke circled the room, giving advice and offering praise. This was more fun than she ever could have dreamed. Already she was attached to them, her fledgling artists. Hazel was all bold lines and dramatic plunges, Chuck used a classic approach, Trish was the very essence of a perfectionist, and Charlotte had a quiet talent that she couldn't wait to develop.

She was sad to see the time pass, waving goodbye as the group exited with waves and promises to see her on Friday. She cleaned up, straightening the supplies before grabbing her things and making her way to the lobby.

"Well how was the first day," Lincoln asked from the doorway of his office.

"It was amazing," Clarke sighed, "Way more fun than I'd expected."

"I'm glad you enjoyed it. I would've done it, but I thought you could use the outlet," Lincoln said, a knowing look in his dark eyes.

"Well I think you called this one Coach," Clarke winked, "I'll see you Friday, if not before, I have to get to work."

"Bye, Clarke, and thanks again," Lincoln called after her.

Thankfully Grounder's was a short walk from the gallery, which made both places handy for Clarke. She pushed the old door, the jangle of the bell above announcing her arrival.

Clarke hung her coat on the metal rack Wick had made several months ago in anticipation of the winter months. She could hear Raven muttering to herself in the office, probably grouching about one of her suppliers again.

"Hey Rae," Clarke called, slipping on her apron and grabbing a rag to clean tables.

"Hey," Raven answered, her words garbled by the pencil that was probably clenched between her teeth.

The bell jingled alerting Clarke to her first customer of the day. She looked up, her gaze connecting with that of a handsome guy probably a little older than Bellamy.

He was rugged, five o'clock shadow shading his chiseled jaw. His eyes were a grayish blue, sharp and missing nothing. He was broad shouldered, and basically the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome.

"Can I get a large black coffee please," he asked, a barely there smile gracing his lips.

"Sure, one black coffee coming up. It'll be $3.50," Clarke said before pouring him a steaming Styrofoam cup of dark liquid.

"Thanks-," the guy said, obviously looking for her name.

"Clarke," she supplied, "With an 'e'."

"Well, it was nice to meet you Clarke with an 'e'," he said with a flirtatious wink.

Clarke just smiled, and jumped when Raven came up behind her, "Who was that?"

"Gosh Rae! Don't do that," Clarke hissed.

"Sorry," Raven said without one note of apology, "Who was that?"

Clarke answered with a roll of her eyes, "He's no one."

"That didn't sound like 'no one'. You two sounded pretty chummy," Raven said crossing her arms over her chest.

"He's just a guy who likes to flirt," Clarke said with a shrug, "and I like the attention, so I don't really see the problem."

"What's your roommate going to think," Raven asked dryly.

Clarke scoffed, "Bellamy won't care."

"I wouldn't be too sure about that," Raven muttered under her breath.

"What did you say," Clarke glowered.

"Nothing," Raven said innocently, "So, is a certain cop coming in for coffee today?"

"Miller? Yeah he's coming," Clarke said cheekily.

"You know who I'm talking about," Raven said in exasperation.

"You really need help, Reyes. You're married, that means you don't get to look anymore," Clarke said with a raised brow.

"I'm married, Clarke," Raven replied, "I'm not dead."

Clarke laughed, "True that, and yes he said that he and Miller might drop by for lunch."

"They're good people Clarke, I like good people," Raven shrugged.

"Yeah, especially when they're as pretty as Bell," Clarke smirked.

"Aha! I knew it," Raven blurted.

"You're making something out of nothing," Clarke said, scrubbing at a stain on her counter, "We're just close."

"Yeah right, and I'm the Queen of Sheba," Raven groused, "Get your act together sweetie, men like that don't come along every day."

"We're friends, Rae! Nothing more," Clarke yelled after her friend as the other woman disappeared back into the office.

However, as the day wore on Clarke found herself watching the door. After every jingle, she would look up- some part of her hoping that Bellamy would be walking in.

When one o'clock rolled around and Bellamy still hadn't appeared, Clarke was beginning to get worried. She tried to show it, but as the hours dragged on she became more afraid.

She knew his job was dangerous, and everyday she feared that something would happen. The logical part of her said it was just because she didn't want to go through the hassle of finding a new roommate, but another part of her knew that she cared for the infuriating man more than she cared to admit.

It felt like six would never roll around, as Clarke split her time from staring at the door and staring at the clock. On her lunch break she'd nearly called the precinct to check on him but then thought better of it.

She didn't want to embarrass him, and she kept telling herself that if something had happened then she would have been notified. She'd become his emergency contact ten minutes after he moved in because "he didn't have anyone else."

Raven took pity on her at five-thirty and let her go early.

"Get out of here. You're depressing the customers," Raven said with a shake of her head.

"Thanks Rae," Clarke said, hugging her friend tight before grabbing her coat and running to the bus stop.

That was the longest ride home she'd ever experienced. Her mind seemed to conjure every possible worst-case scenario. She saw Bellamy bleeding, his skin pale, a gaping hole in his chest.

By the time the bus stopped she was a nervous wreck, scrambling down the steps and running down the sidewalk to Mount Weather. Her fingers shook as she opened the door, her footfalls echoing loudly as she raced up the steps.

She didn't think she'd ever get the door to the apartment open, and when the silly thing did budge she was plunged into darkness. Not a single light was on, the blinds closed, and nothing but inky silence greeted her.

"Bellamy," Clarke called softly, flipping on a light.

When she saw him, it took her breath away. He sat on the couch, his uniform rumpled. His shirt was un-tucked and unbuttoned, his white shirt a stark contrast against his tan skin.

"Are you ok," she asked softly, watching as he turned his tortured gaze upon her.

"I'm fine," Bellamy said, his voice stiff and unfeeling.

"Are you sure, you don't look-"

"What do you think, Clarke," Bellamy exploded, "Do I look sure?"

"No, you look terrible," Clarke said concerned, ignoring his flare of temper.

"Well I've had a terrible day," Bellamy replied darkly.

"Tell me, maybe I can help," Clarke said, stepping closer.

He seemed to think about it for a moment, "No, you wouldn't understand."

"I don't know, I might," Clarke inched closer.

Bellamy gave a mirthless laugh, "What would a princess like you know about it, huh?"

The venom in his tone made Clarke feel like she'd been slapped, "A princess like me?"

"Yeah," Bellamy growled, warming to his subject, "You don't have to slum it, Princess. You could call Daddy, and he'd come and pull you out of this dump. But this… This dump is my life! I didn't grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth. I had to work for what I've got."

Clarke stared at him in shock, "Is that what you think of me?! That I'm some privileged brat slumming it to prove a point?!"

"That's the truth isn't it," Bellamy snarled, "Mommy and Daddy wouldn't do what you wanted so you're trying to teach them a lesson."

Clarke felt a scorching anger rise up within her, causing her hands to fist at her sides as she glared at the man before her.

"That's not true," she said, refusing to let her hurt show.

"Oh it's true, Clarke. I know you," Bellamy hissed, "So why don't you just call Daddy and tell him to come and get you. You've proved your point, now it's time for the princess to return to her tower."

Clarke felt something shatter within her, his words piercing her heart like jagged pieces of glass. For a moment she was sure she must be bleeding, the ache in her chest intensifying at the thought that this was how he viewed her- this was how he'd seen her all along.

At first she was going to walk away, but then she turned back to face him.

"You know what, Bellamy. I can't call Daddy," she said, tears streaming down her cheeks, "Because Daddy's dead and Mommy's to blame."

The look of shock that bloomed on his features brought her some satisfaction, an apology on the tip of his tongue before she cut him off.

"Yeah, you heard right. My mother got my dad killed. So, if you consider my leaving that situation trying to prove a point, then you're right Bellamy. I'm trying to prove that I don't need that woman. I don't need her trying to run my life and telling me that what happened wasn't her fault," Clarke gave a shuddering sob, sighing as she closed her eyes, "Don't pretend to know me, Bellamy. I let you have your secrets, so don't pretend to know mine."

She left him standing alone in the living room, the hollow echo of her slamming door making the apartment feel empty and cold. She fell onto her bed, burying her face in her pillow. She heard him come to her door several times, but he never knocked- never said a word. Finally she cried herself to sleep, troubled and light.

Clarke didn't know what time it was, or even where she was when the first scream split the air. She fumbled for her phone, scared and disoriented. The screen read two forty-five, and she wanted to yell for Bellamy but she reminded herself that she was still angry with him.

By the second scream she felt a painful dread because she recognized it, terrified and tortured though it was. She scrambled from her bed, racing into the living room.

Clarke found him writhing, tangled in a blanket on the couch. His eyes were closed, a look of agony marring his features.

She didn't think she just wanted his suffering to end. She ran to him, laying a hand on his shoulder as she tried to shake him awake- all the while calling his name.

One minute she was upright, the next she was beneath him with his hands around her neck as he tried to choke the life out of her. She gasped his name, trying to pull at his hands as her vision became rimmed in darkness.

Suddenly his grip loosened, his eyes clearing. He crawled away from her, curling up into a sad little ball in the far corner of the sofa. Looking at him, Clarke felt some of her anger drain away.

"I'm so sorry, Clarke," he croaked.

He looked so small as he pressed himself into the cushions at the far end of the couch. His bronze skin was sallow, and his eyes were shut tight as he rocked back and forth probably trying to rid his mind of the images that haunted him.

"Bellamy, I-" Clarke reached out, laying a hand on his arm.

Bellamy started violently, shrinking away from her, "No, Clarke! I don't want to hurt you anymore. Those things I said, I had no right to speak to you that way."

"You're right, you didn't," she said softly, "You sounded like you really hated me."

She watched as his head fell back, a tortured sigh rattling his chest, "Right now you're all I have, and I don't want to lose you even if I don't deserve you. So, I could never hate you Clarke. I hate myself. I'm a monster."

Clarke felt an overwhelming need to touch him. She gently placed her hands on either side of his face, forcing him to look at her. His eyes were wild with fear, but she had to make him understand.

"I've done some terrible things. I've killed people, Clarke," he sobbed, breaking her heart.

"Stop," Clarke shushed him, "If you need forgiveness, I'll give that to you. You're forgiven, Bellamy."

She wasn't sure how long they sat like that, Bellamy sobbing- his hot tears rolling down her neck. She held him tight- held him together when she knew he was falling apart. She didn't let go even when her back started to ache and her eyes burned with exhaustion.

When his tears were spent, she moved to go but his hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist.

"Stay," his dark eyes begged her.

"Ok," Clarke nodded, laying down beside him.

She'd meant to stay only until he fell asleep, but he was warm and she was too tired to walk back to bed. So, she allowed sleep to drag her under- cuddling into Bellamy's side as her eyes drifted shut.

 **Thanks for reading! If you've got a spare second please leave a review! I love hearing from y'all! :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks everyone for your support and I'm so glad you're enjoying the story! If I haven't answered reviews I'm so sorry! I've been swamped at work… Anyhow, enough with the real world problems! Enjoy my dears! :)**

 **Chapter 4**

Clarke woke slowly, cramped on the couch with hair in her mouth. She blinked, light filtering through the blinds she desperately needed to clean. She was just about to roll over and go back to sleep when Bellamy's voice boomed from the kitchen.

"Rise and shine, Princess," he yelled, nearly sending her tumbling onto the floor, "I have to be at work in an hour and Miller will be here in forty-five minutes to pick us up!"

"I'm coming," Clarke grumbled, throwing off the blanket and padding to the kitchen.

She'd feared things might be awkward after last night, but they were actually back to normal. She stood on the threshold, watching Bellamy as he shuffled about the kitchen- milk and cereal sloshing in his wake.

He was shirtless, something she was used to by now. Sure he was modest, but that only lasted about two weeks before he started forgetting his shirt in the bathroom and then forgoing it altogether after a long day at work.

"See something you like," Bellamy winked.

Clarke turned bright red, grabbing the dishtowel and snapping him in the side, "Nothing I haven't seen before…"

Bellamy just laughed, the sound doing funny things to her heart, "You should have seen your face!"

"Hilarious," she muttered, stealing his cereal, and earning a glare with no heat as he could barely contain his smile.

"I'm going to make a morning person out of you yet," Bellamy grinned, reaching for his coffee behind her.

"Good luck," Clarke huffed, "What time will you be home tonight?"

"Pretty late. I'm working a double."

Clarke fought the urge to groan.

"How late is late," she asked around her bite of Cheerios.

"Probably ten," Bellamy shrugged, "What are you doing with your Saturday?"

"I have to drop a painting off at the gallery, and then I thought I'd clean this afternoon. I'd like to have a lazy weekend."

"You and me both," he agreed before heading for his room, "Since I took today's shift I won't have to go in on Monday."

Clarke followed, leaning in his doorway as he pulled his white tee over his head.

"Have you seen my belt," Bellamy asked, his gaze searching the floor.

"I think it's on the back of the couch. I'll go check."

By the time Clarke got back he'd buttoned and tucked in his dark navy shirt, bending over to pull on his shoes. She held out his belt, watching as he clipped on his gun and radio.

"Remind me again why you woke me up," Clarke said with a shake of her head.

"I'm taking you to work. Get dressed because Miller will be here in thirty."

Clarke couldn't help but smile at his thoughtfulness, throwing caution to the wind as she gave him a quick peck on the cheek before rushing off to the bathroom. She showered and dressed in a pair of worn blue jeans and one of Bellamy's old NYPD sweatshirts. She grabbed her bag then waited patiently by the front door.

Bellamy came out a while later, grumbling about how she took too long in the shower, his hair slicked back. If she were honest, Clarke preferred his bed head- it made him look less intimidating.

"So, what about Monday," Bellamy asked looking for his keys.

"What about it," Clarke asked; pulling his keys out the bowl they kept on their entry table and giving them a jingle.

"Can you get off work," Bellamy smiled, sweeping the door open for her to exit first.

"I'll drop by there before I head home today," Clarke smirked, "I'm sure Raven won't mind."

Bellamy slung her canvas bag over one shoulder, leaving her to lock up behind them. She wasn't surprised to find Earl waiting for them. Bellamy gave a quiet snarl, stepping closer to Clarke.

"Good morning, Miss Clarke," Earl said, trying for a gallant bow that fell flat- wilted flowers in hand.

Bellamy gave him a dark scowl, tugging Clarke closer.

"I thought you'd be gone, Officer," Earl said, pouting like a petulant child before turning to Clarke, "I was hoping I could visit you at home."

Clarke felt Bellamy stiffen behind her, "He comes here when I'm gone?"

She chose not to answer, "What do you need Earl?"

"I wanted to know if you'd like to get dinner with me," Earl said, smiling broadly.

"Well," Clarke began, "I don't think-"

"She's not going anywhere with you," Bellamy said, pushing Clarke ahead of him as they started down the stairs.

She stared at him strangely. In all the weeks they'd been living together, he'd never once intervened like this. Sure he griped about Earl, glared daggers at the man every chance he got, but he'd never directly addressed him.

"I think that's for Larkey to decide," Earl said snippily, obviously too stupid to realize that Bellamy was growing angry.

"Larkey," Bellamy grimaced, "Get lost, it's too early for this."

Earl must have finally taken the hint, scurrying back to his apartment. Clarke stared after him in shock.

"What was that about," she asked softly, careful to keep her tone curious instead of accusatory.

Bellamy looked up, anger still hovering in his dark eyes, "He comes by when I'm not here?"

"Yeah, sometimes. Mostly when you work the night shift," Clarke answered, watching as a look of horror spread across his features.

"He comes here when you're alone, at night," Bellamy asked, outrage and disbelief vying for dominance in his voice, "That's it we're getting a dog."

Clarke watched as he reached for the door leading to the street, "Why a dog?"

"I can't always be stuck on day shift, and now that I know that he's coming here when I'm not around I'm not leaving you here alone. I don't even know how he knows I'm not here," Bellamy growled, "It's either the dog, or one of the guys will be here until I get home."

Clarke gave a short nod, knowing this was his way of trying to protect her. Seeing him this way she knew why he'd chosen the career path he had from the military to becoming a cop. It was engrained in him to protect people, and she didn't think he would be happy doing anything else.

"Bell, I honestly don't think he's a danger. I really feel that he's harmless," Clarke began.

"No one is harmless, Princess," Bellamy said darkly, "He has an agenda."

For the first time, Clarke wondered about the nickname. He'd been calling her that for weeks, and not once had she thought to ask him about it- until now.

"Why do you call me that," she hissed, ready for a fight.

Bellamy deflated, shoving his hands in his pockets as they waited for Miller, "Because it suits you."

"You mean because I'm a privileged little brat who-"

"No," Bellamy said, quickly cutting her off, "You're good Clarke. You try to see the best in people, even Earl. You're forgiving, and you just care about people. It fits because you're special. You're like no one I've ever known before."

Clarke felt her cheeks heat at his praise, a smile playing at her lips, "That's the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me."

Miller pulled up to find them just staring at each other, "Everything ok?"

"Yeah," Bellamy replied, opening the back door for Clarke.

"Morning, Miller," Clarke chirped.

"I figured you two would have killed one another by now," Miller said, his shoulders slumping as Bellamy usurped the driver's seat.

"Nah," Clarke grinned, "Bell and I are besties, aren't we?"

She caught Bellamy's gaze in the rearview mirror, his brown eyes warm and bright with his smile.

"You've got to be kidding me, Blake," Miller pouted, "You've only lived with the girl for a month and a half and already you've been friend-zoned!"

"He has not," Clarke defended before covering her mouth- the car growing very quiet.

Bellamy laughed; laughed so hard tears ran down his cheeks. "You just keep digging that hole a little deeper every time you open your mouth, Princess."

"I do not! It's your fault for being shirtless!"

"I do not want to hear this," Miller complained, covering his ears, "Remind me to get a ride with Harper next time."

"Oooo! Who's Harper," Clarke asked, sitting forward to lean her arms on the back of the seat.

"Harper is a cute blonde rookie," Bellamy smirked, once again catching her eye in the rearview.

"Shut up, Blake," Miller said, crossing his arms with a childish pout.

"I think there's more story to tell here, but this is my stop," Clarke said as Bellamy pulled to the curb, "I expect details later, Nate."

"Bye Princess," Bellamy laughed as she got out, "Call me when you're ready to head home and we'll give you a lift."

"Thanks Bell! Bye Miller," Clarke waved before making her way into the gallery..

"You're in deep, Blake," Miller said as they pulled into traffic.

"What are you talking about," Bellamy asked, gripping the wheel just a bit tighter.

"You like her."

"I live with her, of course I like her," Bellamy shrugged, "We're just friends."

"Keep telling yourself that, bud," Miller grinned with a shake of his head.

100100100100100100100

Clarke walked into the gallery, a new painting slung under her arm. She ducked into Lincoln's office with a grin, waving when she saw that he was on the phone. He quickly ended the call, ushering her inside.

"New work," he asked, taking the painting from her.

"Just something I whipped up," Clarke shrugged, suddenly self-conscious.

The painting was of Bellamy. She'd been ready to burn it about twelve hours ago, but now she was glad she hadn't. It was some of her best work, his dark eyes dragging an admirer's focus to his face with magnetic force. His hair was wild, an enchanting smile tilting his lips.

Clarke looked from the painting to Lincoln, her stomach sinking when she saw the look on his face.

"You don't like it, I can-" she cringed as she moved to take the painting back.

"No," Lincoln jerked, "it's great. I was just lost in thought for a moment. What are you calling it?"

Clarke thought for a moment. She hated naming her paintings because they either sounded corny or like she'd over thought it. This time it came to her in a flash, and she smiled.

"Bellamy."

"Is that his name," Lincoln asked, strange expression still in place.

"Yeah it means beautiful friend in French. Weird that I know that, and Bell would kill me if he knew I'd painted him," she chuckled, "but when you spend twenty-four hours a day with someone you can't really help it."

"So, he's the elusive roommate," Lincoln said, a small smile curving his lips.

"Yep," Clarke grinned, popping the 'p'.

"Well I think this should go in the exhibit I'm planning in a few weeks!"

"Really," Clarke squeaked.

"Really," Lincoln grinned wider, "You're an amazing artist Clarke, it's high time this city knew that."

"Thank you, Lincoln. I don't know what to say," she was breathless, and she couldn't wait to tell Bellamy.

"All you have to say is yes," Lincoln chuckled.

"Yes," Clarke smiled, shaking his hand before turning to go.

"Clarke," he called before she got out the door.

"Yeah?"

"Start picking out some more work. You're going to be my main exhibition, so find at least twelve pieces."

"Sure," Clarke grinned, feeling like she could fly. For the first time she felt like her art was going places, she felt established, "See you Monday!"

She practically skipped to Grounders, her cheeks hurting she was smiling so hard.

Raven grinned as she entered, "Hey, you look much better today! Everything straightened out at home base?"

"Yeah, we talked and got everything lined out. Then Lincoln told me this morning that he's going to put my art in his exhibit," Clarke answered; grinning when her friend handed her the two things she'd come for.

She took a seat at an empty booth, Raven joining her after seeing to a customer. The coffee was just what she needed, the cream cheese Danish heaven in her mouth.

"That's great," Raven squealed, hugging her tight.

"I know right! I can't wait to tell Bellamy," Clarke replied around a mouthful of Danish.

"I'm glad you two made up," Raven said with a chuckle, "I was getting tired of your moping."

"I do not mope," Clarke retorted, taking a sip of coffee.

"Oh believe me, where Bellamy Blake is concerned, you mope…" Raven grinned.

"He says we have to get a dog," Clarke said, changing the subject.

"Why," Raven asked, her brow furrowing.

"He doesn't like that Earl comes to the apartment while he's gone. He said it was either a dog, or one of his buddies from the force would be staying on the nights he's not home," Clarke explained.

"Wow, protective much," Raven chuckled, "I think the man may just swaddle you in bubble wrap and never let you leave the house."

"Very funny," Clarke said with a roll of her eyes, "He's just overly cautious."

"Oh yeah, that's exactly what I'd call it," Raven said with a shake of her head.

"What? There's nothing strange about it," Clarke defended.

"Oh no, sweetie, there's nothing strange about it at all. It's perfectly normal for a man to treat a woman like that- when he's married to her. Which just cements what I've been saying since he moved in, you two are so married. More married than Wick and I sometimes…"

"We are not," Clarke said, crossing her arms.

"Not legally no, but I've heard you speak to the man on the phone, Clarke. I keep waiting for a 'bye, love you'," Raven said with a smirk.

"You're so full of it," Clarke grumbled.

Raven laughed at this, taking her friend's hand in her own, "I didn't say it was bad, sweetie. I'm glad you've got him in your life. He's brought out a strength in you, like he gives you confidence or something."

Clarke smiled, "He is pretty great, arguments aside."

"I think you enjoy most of those verbal sparing matches," Raven pointed out with a shake of her head.

"Yeah, I can't lie, it is pretty fun," Clarke said, a pink tint climbing up her neck.

"That's what I figured," Raven said, "Do you want to stay with me and Wick since Bellamy has to work late tonight?"

"Nah," Clarke said, "I'm going to get some cleaning and laundry done before he gets home. We're both off tomorrow, so I'll probably just wait up. Which, reminds me, can I have Monday off? Bellamy won't be working that day, so-"

"So married," Raven mumbled, earning a glare from her best friend.

"Well…" Clarke prompted.

"Yes, you can have Monday off," Raven grinned.

"Thank you. Now I have to get home," Clarke said as she drained her coffee and finished off the Danish.

"Bye C," Raven called after her, "Tell your hubby I said hi!"

"Bye Rae," Clarke said, shaking her head in exasperation.

True to her word, she went home and cleaned the apartment. She decided to do laundry first, moving through the bedrooms picking up clothes and towels and putting them in a basket.

Bellamy was going to kill her when he found out she'd gone down to the basement by herself, but she didn't want to drag him down there after he got off work. She finished filling her basket, balancing it on her hip as she opened the door.

The walk to the basement was never a pleasant one. The building was ancient which meant the deep, dark cavity was damp and frigid this time of year. She loved the late fall temperatures outside, the crispness to the air, but this was ridiculous.

Clarke started a load, taking a seat in one of the old, cracked plastic lawn chairs. She was thankful for Bellamy's sweatshirt, pulling her knees up to her chest as she reached for the book she'd brought with her.

She did two loads, folding the clothes neatly and placing them in the basket before journeying back to the cozy apartment. She made a list of the things she needed to get done, one being ironing Bellamy's clean uniforms.

She made it to the third floor without seeing Earl, breathing a sigh of relief when she also managed to slip into her apartment unnoticed…or so she thought until the knocking started.

"Can it, Earl," she yelled.

The knocking stopped, and Clarke gave a sigh of relief. She stood with hands on her hips, staring at the apartment. She and Bellamy hadn't had a lot of time for cleaning lately, so the place looked a bit icky.

She decided to start in the kitchen and work her way back to the bedrooms. She washed their dishes from that morning, cleaned out the fridge, mopped the floors, put clean sheets on the bed, scrubbed the bathroom, and then set to work on the ironing.

The sun had set, and Clarke was rocking out to Def Leppard as she ironed Bellamy's work pants. She could hear the crazy opera lady tuning up, and she sincerely hoped the woman would be finished by the time Bellamy got home. He hated that the caterwauling interrupted his television.

She was just headed to his room to hang up his clothes when she heard a knock at the door. She checked her phone to find it was just a little before nine. It couldn't be Bellamy, he had a key, and the precinct would have called if something happened.

"Go away Earl," Clarke yelled, but the knocking persisted

She grumbled under her breath, quickly putting Bellamy's clothes in his closet before making her way to the front door.

"I swear Earl if you don't stop, I'm going to call Bellamy," Clarke fumed, jerking the door open to find Lincoln standing beside a woman who cannily resembled Bellamy.

For a moment she just stood there, eyes wide and mouth agape.

"You're Bellamy's sister," Clarke said when she could finally speak.

"I'm Octavia," the woman said, extending her hand.

"Come in," Clarke opened the door wider, "Bell's still at work, but he should be home in about an hour."

"I really didn't peg my brother for the commitment type," Octavia said, a note of bitterness in her voice, Lincoln's eyes going wide- looking to Clarke apologetically.

"I'm not his girlfriend," Clarke explained, "Can I get you anything?"

"No, thank you," Octavia said, her gaze travelling over the shoddy little apartment.

Clarke sighed, rolling her eyes, "Well then I hope you don't mind if I finish my ironing. Bell's anal about his uniforms."

"We should have called ahead," Lincoln spoke for the first time, "I'm sorry to just barge in like this, Clarke-"

"It's fine," Clarke interrupted, "I'm sure Bell will be happy to see you."

"I'll just bet he will," Octavia hissed.

Clarke was just about ready to wrap the cord of her iron around the other woman's neck when the front door banged open.

"Place smells great, Princess," Bellamy called as he shucked his shoes and coat, "Did you order pizza, I'm starved?"

Clarke watched his face as it morphed from his pleasant "honey I'm home" expression to an "oh crap" scowl in slow motion. He stalked into the kitchen, glaring around the corner, "Miss Griffin, might I have a word in the kitchen?"

She gave a stiff nod, walking quickly to join him.

"What are they doing here," Bellamy whisper yelled.

"They just showed up, and believe me I'm just as surprised as you are," Clarke whispered back, glaring around the corner at Lincoln.

"How did she find me," Bellamy asked.

"Lincoln owns the gallery where I've been selling my paintings, so I guess it's my fault," she replied remorsefully.

"I just can't win," Bellamy howled, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

"Just go talk to her," Clarke said softly, "I know you miss her."

"You don't understand, Clarke," he said as he sank down into one of their rickety kitchen chairs, "She threw me out, said she didn't want to see me anymore. I needed her, and she chose him."

Clarke looked at him, his head bowed-hands covering his face, and she was so angry with Octavia. The Bellamy she knew would have warmed up to Lincoln in time. He was hurting, and just trying to do what he thought was best.

"Give her a chance, Bell," she said, gently prying his hands from his face, "You don't have to talk it all out now, just get the ball rolling."

"Alright," Bellamy said squeezing her hand.

They entered the living room together, Octavia giving them a look that Clarke knew meant she'd heard just about everything, and Lincoln looking like he'd die of remorse. She steered Bellamy to the couch, then moved to leave the room.

"Stay," Bellamy asked, his dark eyes pleading.

"Of course," Clarke replied, taking the seat beside him.

"I was hoping we could talk just the two of us," Octavia said quietly.

"Clarke stays or I don't talk," Bellamy said, stubbornly crossing his arms over his chest.

"Just here for moral support," Clarke said, leaning back against the old couch with a placating smile.

"Fine," Octavia grumbled before turning back to her brother, "Bell, why won't you just come home? I've tried calling you so many times. I was terrified something had happened to you."

"Come home," Bellamy laughed sardonically, "You kicked me out, Octavia!"

"You punched my fiancé! What was I supposed to do?"

"You could've tried to understand! You don't know what it was like after I came home. You were so busy planning your wedding and living your perfect life that you didn't even notice that I wasn't alright," Bellamy sighed, leaning forward to rest his head in his hands.

"You wouldn't talk to me," Octavia defended, "How was I supposed to know if you refused to talk about it!"

"I just needed you to be there, O," Bellamy whispered brokenly.

The room fell silent. Clarke laid a comforting hand on Bellamy's back, moving in slow circles up his spine. She knew this would not be a good night, he would be plagued with nightmares and neither of them would sleep- he from fear and she from worry.

"Bellamy," Octavia began before he cut her off.

"I can't do this right now," he said, his voice shaking as he got up and paced away.

"I'll have him call you next week," Clarke said with a warm smile, "He's just tired. Everything will look better after he's rested."

"What do you know about my brother," Octavia snapped, "You've only known him for what, two months?"

"She knows enough," Lincoln said softly, sending an apologetic glance Clarke's way.

"Yes she does, now I would appreciate it if you would take your fiancé and leave," Bellamy rumbled.

"She's just trying to help, Blake," Lincoln said, making Clarke wish he would've just stayed quiet when Bellamy's muscles tensed.

"Help? Help! I can't be the man you want Octavia! That man died! He doesn't exist anymore," Bellamy cried before bolting to the front door.

"Bellamy," Octavia called, moving to follow.

"No, I'll go," Clarke said.

She'd expected Octavia to protest, but the apartment was silent as she left. She didn't know where Bellamy would go, until she remembered the building had roof and she'd heard hat some of their neighbors often went up there to smoke.

Clarke took the stairs two at a time, shoving at the door until it squeaked loudly on rusty hinges. She found Bellamy standing at the railing staring out over the city. He didn't turn as she approached, but he didn't tense either.

"That went well," she said, bumping his shoulder.

He gave a breathy laugh, shaking his head, "I didn't punch anybody this time."

"See, you're evolving," Clarke chuckled, "but seriously, Bellamy, I'm sorry you got blindsided like that. I would freak if my Mom just showed up here."

"Let's hope that doesn't happen for another month," Bellamy sighed, "I don't think I can take any more emotion for a while."

"Why don't I go down and see if the coast is clear, then we can order pizza and relax with Big Bang," Clarke suggested.

"I'll be here. Signal me when she's gone," Bellamy grumbled.

"Will do," Clarke patted him on the shoulder.

When she reached the apartment, she found Octavia and Lincoln sitting on the couch. They both stood as she entered.

"Is he alright," Octavia asked, tears tracking down her cheeks.

"Yeah," Clarke smiled, "but next time I'd give him some warning. He's not a fan of surprises…"

Her gaze turned on Lincoln, the deep blue orbs promising a confrontation that he knew he wouldn't enjoy.

"Fine. I'll go, but tell him to call me," Octavia said, swiping at the tears staining her cheeks as she rose to leave.

Lincoln gave Clarke a sad smile as he followed Octavia, and Clarke felt bad for wanting to stuff one of the socks from the laundry basket in his mouth. She returned his smile, and then shut the door to text Bellamy.

100100100100100100100

Clarke rolled over on her squeaky mattress, wide-awake and listening for any sign that sleep was just as elusive for Bellamy. The apartment was quiet; too quiet she'd readily admit. Bellamy usually snored, so she guessed he was either sleeping on his side or he was awake.

She was about to get up and turn on the TV for a while when her door creaked open. Bellamy stood in the dim pool of light that filtered from the slight illumination from the bathroom light they always left on.

His curls were tousled and his eyes were haunted. She could tell he'd either had a nightmare and she hadn't heard him or he'd been torturing himself about the visit with his sister. Other than that, she hadn't seen him all day so she didn't know what else it could be.

Clarke watched as he shifted nervously from foot to foot, not saying a word. She could tell he was about to turn and walk out, but she stopped him.

"Come here," she said softly, scooting over to make room for him.

He came willingly, slipping into bed beside her. The air mattress squeaked pitifully, and for a moment Clarke was sure it would pop. Bellamy let out a ragged breath, his fingers twining with hers and successfully taking her mind off of her contrary mattress.

"What is it," Clarke whispered, inching closer.

Bellamy was like a furnace, hot natured and exuding more bodily warmth than any one person should. She moved her cold feet against his legs, grinning when he flinched slightly but didn't move.

"It's just been a bad day," Bellamy answered finally, pulling her close as though the distance between them was unacceptable.

"Tell me," she said, burying her face in his neck, knowing he needed her near.

"I'm just so angry with her," he rasped, "How could she just throw me out?"

Clarke began to gently card her fingers through his hair, knowing it had a calming affect on him.

"You both had some adjusting to do, Bellamy. I know you as you are now, but your sister needs to get to know you again. Just give her a chance. You can call her tomorrow and set up lunch," Clarke finished, tilting her head so she could look him in the eye.

Bellamy gave a deep sigh, but nodded, "I'll call her."

"Good," Clarke smiled, patting his chest, "Now get some sleep. No one has work tomorrow, and I'd like to sleep in."

She closed her eyes, slinging her arm across his torso. She lay still, feeling him shift and roll until he was facing her. It took a few minutes, but soon he was still and his breathing was even.

She breathed out a sigh of relief, "Goodnight Bell."

Later she would swear she dreamed that he had pressed a kiss to her forehead before telling her goodnight and pulling her closer, but that would've been absurd now wouldn't it?

 **Thanks for reading! Please review if you've got a second! I really do love hearing from y'all!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Thanks so much to everyone who's followed, faved, and reviewed! Y'all are amazing!**

 **ATTN: Bellarke Fanfiction is holding their Bellarke Fiction Awards! Nominations close on Sunday and then voting will open up in a week or so! There are a ton of categories for stories and authors, so y'all nominate your favorite authors and stories! These stories take a lot of work, and this is kinda like our version of the Golden Globes lol So show the wonderful FF writers some love! (This is not me asking for nominations lol I just want to keep y'all informed!)**

 **Chapter 5**

Sunday was the perfect lazy day. Clarke and Bellamy barely moved from the couch, although he'd complained all day about the television. It was too small, poor quality, and she feared at one point he was going to pitch it out the window.

They didn't talk about Octavia, and she didn't say anything else about him calling his sister. If he called, it was going to be his choice. Personally, she didn't want to disrupt their life with ungrateful sisters but she knew that Bellamy needed family- unlike her.

It was getting late when Clarke finally decided to haul herself to bed. She gave a wide yawn, patting Bellamy's shoulder before staggering to her room. She didn't have to be up super early, but she still had a class to teach the next morning and she didn't want to look like the walking dead…

It felt like she'd just fallen asleep when she felt her mattress shift, giving a squeal of protest at the added weight. She didn't even open her eyes as Bellamy's arms came around her, his face buried in her hair.

"Couldn't sleep," Clarke mumbled, her words slurred with sleep.

"No," Bellamy said simply.

"Need to talk about it," she asked.

"No," he replied.

She could feel the racing of his heart through his chest; his breath coming in shuddering little gasps until it finally began to even. She waited; she didn't want to fall asleep until she was sure that he could too.

"We are going to have to do something about this mattress," Bellamy's voice rumbled in her ear.

"Why," Clarke asked sleepily.

"It's uncomfortable," he reasoned.

"Well we can settle that tomorrow. Go to sleep, Bellamy," Clarke said, turning over and snuggling against his chest.

She felt more than heard his answering chuckle, "Alright, Princess."

"Good," she sighed, her eyes drifting closed as his warmth lulled her to sleep.

Clarke woke up Monday morning alone in her bed. She could hear Bellamy singing in the shower, so that explained where he'd gone. She lay there for a minute or two before deciding to get up, making her way into the kitchen to stare into the fridge. They had all the fixings for the only breakfast she could actually cook, so she counted it as a win.

Taking the eggs and bacon from the fridge, Clarke pulled out a heavy cast iron skillet and poured some oil into it before placing it over the one working burner on their stove.

Soon the eggs were popping happily, and the coffee was nearly finished by the time Bellamy made his entrance.

"Morning," he said, moving to the coffee pot to pour both of them a mug of the strong, black brew.

"Morning," Clarke replied, "I hope eggs and bacon sound ok."

"Smells great, so I'm all for it," he grinned, leaning back against the counter as he sipped his coffee.

Clarke loved moments like these, the quiet moments when they were doing something so routine or so mundane but it just felt so special. She knew that no matter what, these would be the moments she couldn't forget.

"You sure do look serious this morning," Bellamy observed.

"Just thinking," Clarke shrugged, "I like us. It's so easy with you. I don't have to pretend, or put on. You know the good and the bad, and you're sure to point it out."

Bellamy smiled, "Feeling mushy are we?"

"Fine, I'm never saying anything nice ever again," she grinned.

"You never say anything nice as it is," he taunted, his smile growing.

"You're unbelievable," Clarke pouted before her own smile broke through.

"Scoot," Bellamy said, displacing her from her place at the stove.

She happily stood back and watched him finish their breakfast. He plated their food, then led the way to the little dining table.

Clarke checked the time after she'd finished, finding she only had thirty minutes before she had to leave.

"Crap," she hissed, "I'm going to be late!"

"No you're not," Bellamy said, amused, "Just get a move on."

Clarke glared at him, "This is all your fault…"

"How is this my fault," he glowered.

"You're warm, and I slept too hard last night," she huffed, making him laugh.

"I'm not apologizing," he waggled his eyebrows.

"You're insufferable," Clarke sighed, barely keeping her smile at bay.

"Hurry up and get ready, or you will be late," Bellamy admonished.

She threw one last glare over her shoulder before running off to the bathroom. She wouldn't have time to dry her hair, so she just threw it up in a messy bun. She toweled off, and put on a pair of jeans and an old grey t-shirt she'd swiped from Bellamy. She finished with a pair of black converses and an old green flannel shirt.

"I'm headed out," Clarke called, digging in her bag for her keys.

"I'll walk you down," Bellamy said, stopping when he saw her, "Is that my shirt?"

Clarke blushed, nodding slowly.

Bellamy just shrugged, "Looks better on you than it does me."

He walked her down stairs and all the way to the bus stop in his sweat pants and dark blue NYPD hoodie. He looked so adorably relaxed that Clarke couldn't help but grin.

"What's so funny," he asked as the bus pulled up, Indra giving them a disapproving look as the doors whooshed open.

"You," Clarke laughed, pecking him on the cheek before racing for the bus.

She found a window seat, waving at him as the bus pulled away. As she settled in, she couldn't really remember what life was like before Bellamy. It felt like he'd always been there.

On the heels of that thought came a dread like she'd never known. Clarke had become so accustomed to him that it pained her to think of ever leaving. She didn't like to think about it, but she knew that sooner or later one of them would move on.

As the bus came to a stop at the gallery she shook those thoughts from her mind. She convinced herself that it would be a long time before she even had to worry about that. They were happy as they were, neither would want to change.

Clarke waved to Indra as she disembarked, pushing through the glass door and into the gallery. She walked down to the little studio, the quiet enveloping her like a welcome friend.

She supposed that most instructors already had a set plan, but she was just learning so she was flying by the seat of her pants for the time being. She'd started doing some research, trying to find the best approach so her little group could get the most out of this experience.

Clarke sat down at her easel, reaching for the pencil. She turned her head, wishing the canvas would speak- tell her what to do. She decided to sketch for a while, flower's taking shape before her eyes.

She'd always loved flowers as a little girl. Her father would spend many a warm Saturday in the front yard tending to their flowerbeds, and she would be right beside him- covered in dirt and grinning from ear to ear.

Clarke smiled as the day's lesson came to her- depth and distance. She flipped to a new page, quickly sketching out something that she could use for her lesson- four small depictions that would work for her examples.

She heard the door open, expecting to see her pupils arriving. However, it was Lincoln's smiling face instead.

"Good morning," he said, taking one of the stools- his long legs looking scrunched, "How's Bellamy?"

"A little shaken, but he's strong. He'll be alright," Clarke smiled fondly.

"You really care about him, don't you?"

"Yeah," Clarke blushed, "We've only known each other for about two months, but it feels a lot longer."

"How did you meet," Lincoln asked, crossing his arms.

"I had moved to the city, found an apartment, and then realized I couldn't pay for it. I told a friend of mine about needing a roommate and she advised me to put of flyers. Bellamy was the first to call, and the rest is history," Clarke shrugged.

"What does he do? Octavia doesn't know," Lincoln said.

"He's a policeman," she shook her head, "Scares me to death sometimes, but I like that he's doing something that he loves."

"Does he enjoy your art?"

Clarke laughed, "I have to sneak pieces out of the house because he wants to keep everything. He watches me paint at night, says it relaxes him."

Lincoln looked like he wanted to keep talking, but Hazel and Trish came strolling in before he could say anything more.

"Well I'll let you get to it," he smiled, quietly greeting the two ladies before he left, "and I'm sorry again about the other night."

"It's fine," Clarke said, "After meeting Octavia, I don't think you had much choice in the matter."

Lincoln chuckled, "Thanks, Clarke."

"That man sure does cut a fine figure," Trish said with a shake of her head as Lincoln walked out.

"Amen," Hazel grinned before turning to Clarke, "How are you honey?"

"I'm good, how are you Miss Hazel," Clarke smiled.

"I'm doing just fine, and so is this old battle axe," Hazel winked, pointing at Trish.

"I resent that madam," Trish scowled theatrically before giving in to her smile.

Charlotte was next, giving everyone a shy smile as she took her seat. Trish joined her at the back, speaking softly and smiling gently, and soon the young woman was reciprocating.

Chuck came shuffling in a few minutes later, "Well what do we have here… Four of the prettiest ladies in the city," he smiled, tipping his hat to Hazel.

Clarke couldn't help but smile, hiding behind her easel as the elderly gentleman flirted shamelessly and Hazel giggled and tittered like she was sixteen again. Those two were quite the pair, and too cute for her artistic sense to ignore.

"Alright everyone," Clarke said as she stood, "I'm happy to see you all today, and I thought we'd learn a little about depth and distance." She turned her sketch around, pointing out different elements as she spoke, "These are simple techniques to use, and they'll build on the shading you learned on Tuesday. Now, I want you to take your shapes and do what I've done here."

She watched as they each picked up their pencil, hesitant at first until they finally put them to paper and began to draw. She made her rounds, encouraging Trish who insisted hers did not look the way it should, and praising Charlotte who then turned to help the woman sitting beside her.

They had a marvelous time, Hazel and Chuck comparing their work to hilarious effects. Clarke found herself becoming lighter, like everything was falling into place. It made her feel wonderful and terrible all at the same time because she was terrified that something would happen to ruin her peace.

She checked her phone, finding they'd gone over by about ten minutes, "Well it looks like that's all the time we have for today. I will see you all on Tuesday."

Goodbye chorused over and over as her students exited, chatting amongst themselves like they were old pals. Clarke smiled and waved them out, turning to pack up her things as Lincoln entered.

"I've got to run down to the bank really quick, just lock the door behind you when you head out."

"Alright, see you next week," Clarke called after him.

She quickly gathered her things, checking her phone to make sure Bellamy hadn't called before heading for the bus stop. Thankfully she didn't have long to wait, and she was stepping off at the stop near the apartment before she even knew it.

"Bye Indra," Clarke called, turning to find Bellamy waiting on her.

His hair was windblown, but he looked great in his black sweater and dark wash jeans. His hands were stuffed down in his pockets, a smile on his face as he pushed her back on the bus.

"What are you doing," she protested.

"Furniture shopping," Bellamy replied excitedly.

"I can't afford anything right now," Clarke said, not meaning to burst his bubble as he found them a seat.

"We'll split it. It's not like we're planning on cohabitating with anyone else any time soon," he shrugged.

Clarke sighed, his expectant look making it impossible to say no, "Alright, but we need a truck."

"I've already got that figured out," Bellamy winked.

They rode the bus to an old truck rental lot. The guy owed Bellamy a favor so they were getting a good deal on the old white box truck with its rusty spots and dented grill.

"She don't look like much," the portly man said, "but she'll haul whatever you ask her to."

Bellamy thanked him as he took the keys, opening the passenger side door with a wide grin, "You're carriage awaits, Princess."

Clarke chuckled, "Why thank you my gallant knight."

Bellamy blushed at this, his smile growing even wider if that was possible.

They made it to their first stop around eleven, a little shop owned by an older couple who greeted them enthusiastically and then left them to browse without any interruptions.

"Now that's service," Bellamy commented as they strolled through the rows of couches, "Tell you they're glad to see you and then leave you alone. I hate being hounded to death while I'm shopping."

Clarke laughed, "See anything you like?"

He pointed out a leather sectional, a bit pricey but good construction- or so he said. She liked the color, the rich brown looked warm and inviting and it was large enough that they could both have enough space to stretch out and relax if they wanted.

"I think it'll fit," Bellamy said, "I probably should have measured before we left home…"

"I'm sure it'll be fine," Clarke replied, "Plus I couldn't imagine getting anything else after seeing this one."

Bellamy waved over the owner, telling the man they would take it. The man put a sold tag on it, and they went back to browsing.

"We need a new table," Bellamy groused as they moved along.

"I'll have to agree with you there," Clarke said with a shake of her head, "I'm afraid ours is going to fall apart."

They decided on a simple round table with four chairs, the stain a dark hickory, before Bellamy led Clarke to the bedroom furniture. She walked around, running her hand along several pieces before she finally found the one she wanted.

It was a cherry finish sleigh bed with a matching nightstand and dresser. He knew the moment she saw it because her eyes lit up, and he was already signaling for the shop owner again.

They settled up, Clarke grimacing at the cost while Bellamy didn't even bat an eye.

"We need it," he shrugged.

She could barely contain her excitement! She was going to decorate, buy things that could transfer to their new place when they decided to move. She was about to wiggle out of her seat, Bellamy giving her the strangest look.

"What are you doing," he asked finally.

"I'm excited," Clarke chirped, "We're going to have real furniture that we can show off!"

Bellamy chuckled, "We'll have Wick and Raven over next week."

"We could have Octavia and Lincoln over sometime," Clarke ventured.

"We'll see," he grumbled.

"Lincoln's a good guy, Bell," Clarke sighed, "I think you'd-"

"It's not him, Princess," Bellamy replied wearily, "It's my sister."

"Call her, work it out," she said softly.

"Fine," he said, an angry undertone in his voice.

Clarke sighed, letting it drop. He didn't trust easily, and it amazed her that he trusted her at all. It had taken time, but now he didn't hide anything from her. Not the anger he held against his mother, the betrayal he felt from his sister, and not his fear and pain.

"Mr. Costanzo said that his sons would help us unload," Bellamy said breaking the silence.

He did that a lot. They would talk about something and he would go silent, and then start talking as though it never happened. She always let him.

"Good, there was no way the two of us were getting that couch up those stairs," Clarke said drily.

Bellamy chuckled, "Oh come on, Princess. Where's your sense of adventure?"

"Out the window," she sing-songed, making his smile widen.

Sure enough when they got home, two burly Italian men in their early twenties hopped out of an old pickup. They were a huge help, not even batting an eye as they helped Bellamy carry the sectional up the stairs in pieces.

Clarke stood on the sidelines, hoping and praying Bellamy didn't injure himself trying to keep up with the two younger men with their bulging muscles and sculpted physiques- not that she noticed or anything…

"Well that's the last of it," Bellamy gasped when they'd finished, plopping down on the sofa with an oomph.

Their two new friends had left only moments before after the last piece of furniture had been placed where Clarke wanted it. They'd even taken the old furniture and paid the pair a decent price- more than it was worth Bellamy had said.

"It looks great," Clarke smiled as she took a seat beside him, "I'm going to have to find some throw pillows to match."

Bellamy groaned, "Don't frill it up."

"I'm not," she protested, "but a little color never hurt anyone."

He just nodded, eyes closed as he leaned back against the cushions. Clarke let him be, instead planning what she would do to spruce this place up. She had her eye on a new bedspread, the crisp white goose down comforter too luxurious to pass up.

She heard Bellamy give a contented sigh, looking over to find that she had absently begun to card her fingers through his hair. She found it odd how easy it was to touch him.

Clarke knew she wasn't a person prone to an overabundance of affection. She didn't feel like she could just hug someone, or hold their hand. Bellamy was different though. Maybe it was because she knew he liked affection, or that she knew her touch calmed him. Whatever it was, it came natural with him.

"What time do we have to meet Wick and Raven," Bellamy asked softly, startling her slightly.

She'd forgotten about Raven's text earlier in the day asking if they'd like to join them for dinner that night.

"In about three hours," Clarke answered, her fingers toying with the curls at the nape of his neck.

"Good," he sighed, silence enveloping them once more.

Clarke felt her own eyes begin to droop, so she set an alarm on her phone, "I vote we take a nap."

Bellamy didn't need any more convincing. He laid down, tugging her with him. She felt his arms wrap around her, his warm breath ghosting over her neck and ruffling wisps of hair.

To anyone looking in, this might have appeared romantic- although many of Clarke's interactions with Bellamy could be construed as such. She knew better. This was what it felt like to be completely comfortable with someone. She didn't have to worry about how Bellamy would interpret her actions, just as she didn't read too much into anything he did.

They were friends, and she needed him- she loved him. As she'd gotten older she'd realized that there were so many different kinds of love. The kind she had with Bellamy was a precarious mixture that could grow to be more if it was allowed.

She knew that he cared about her, but she also knew that he faced the same fears she did. They'd grown so dependent on each other that they were hesitant to do anything that could jeopardize that. Clarke knew that she just wanted him, in whatever capacity that might keep him in her life- whatever form that would allow her these moments, no matter how rare.

She drifted to sleep to the sound of his even breathing, just as she'd done so many times before. The soft rasps were her lullaby, his heartbeat a steady thrumming against her back that anchored her to this time and kept her past at bay. He wasn't the only one who had bad dreams, and just as she calmed his fears he kept her painful memories at bay.

About an hour later Clarke woke to the sound of her alarm, extending her arm to reach for the offending noise. Bellamy grunted, trying to pull her closer.

"Just a few more minutes," he mumbled in her ear.

She gave a soft laugh, finally taking hold of her phone to shut off the alarm. She disentangled herself, his protests bringing a frown to his sleepy features.

"It's too early to get up," he pouted.

"I have to get ready for dinner with Raven and Wick."

"That's tonight," Bellamy replied as though she had no idea what she was talking about.

"Bell, it is tonight," Clarke grinned, tickling his ribs.

He wrinkled his nose, cracking one eye open, "Why did I agree to go?"

"Because you love Chinese," Clarke winked, before going to fix her hair, touch up her makeup, and put on something more presentable.

When she got back Bellamy was up, hair combed, with a fresh change of clothes. He was still sprawled on the couch, remote in hand as he flipped through the channels.

"Are we ready," he asked, hearing her come in.

"Yep, let's go."

"You look nice," Bellamy smiled, taking in her red knit dress, black tights, and black ankle boots. Her hair was down, golden waves down her back.

"Thank you," she blushed, "You don't look bad yourself."

"Gotta dress to impress," he winked, leading her out of the apartment.

They'd just started down the hall when a low whistle sounded from the shadows. Clarke grimaced, knowing what was coming next.

"Smok'in Larkey," Earl purred.

"Gee thanks, Earl," Clarke ground out.

He tried to step closer, but Bellamy wrapped a protective arm around her and wouldn't let him get any closer. He gave the little man a death glare before ushering her forward, his hand warm at her back.

They didn't talk about it, it seemed normal for him to protect her. Clarke knew that if he wanted, Bellamy could snap Earl like a twig. She was actually proud that he didn't let his anger get the best of him- that was the kind of man Bellamy was.

The cab ride wasn't too bad, or as far as cab rides went. Bellamy paid the fare then helped Clarke get out, his hand once again going to the small of her back as they entered.

"Wick," Clarke told the hostess, the woman leading them back to where Raven and Wick were sitting.

"Hey," the couple grinned as their friends sat down.

Bellamy and Wick started talking sports while Clarke and Raven talked about the new furniture.

"You should see it, Rae," Clarke smiled, "It looks so beautiful."

"I'm just glad you have a real bed, with a real mattress," Raven smirked.

"That's nice too," Clarke agreed, "I think I'm going to see about getting a new TV for his birthday."

"What about a TV," Bellamy asked.

"Nothing," Clarke said with a shake of her head.

"You're planning something," he said, suspicion clear in his voice.

"Even if I am I'm not telling," she told him, "Can we order? I'm starved."

A waitress came by shortly after, taking their orders before bringing their drinks. When the food was brought out it smelled delicious, and certainly didn't disappoint.

"We may have to come here next week, Princess," Bellamy said around a mouthful of Kung Pao chicken.

"It is good," Clarke agreed, slurping up her lo mien, "So no argument from me."

When they'd finished, Clarke and Bellamy turned down coffee at Grounder's opting to just head home. They stayed up for a bit, watching TV until they could barely keep their eyes open.

Clarke crawled into her new bed, sighing at the softness of her new mattress. She was asleep almost instantly, drifting into a deep, dreamless slumber- until she felt a presence beside her.

She opened her eyes, looking over her shoulder to find Bellamy crawling in beside her.

"What's the matter," she asked groggily.

He didn't even speak, just curled into her. He just needed something real, something to prove that he wasn't back in that forsaken dessert- bombs going off in bright flashes and the echoes of gunfire bouncing off the canyon walls.

Clarke lay still, running her fingers up and down his spine. She could feel the rapid staccato of his heart, the way he trembled. She wanted to comfort him, take away his fear.

"Go to sleep," he whispered.

"But I-" she slurred.

"Just let me hold you," he said softly, pulling her closer.

She nodded against his chest, her eyes falling shut. She was nearly asleep when his heart rate began to slow, fingers toying with her curls. She sighed, relaxing against him as she allowed herself to go back to sleep.

 **Thanks for reading! Please review! I really need some inspiration… Real world is kicking my butt lol**


	6. Chapter 6

**Well we have someone new appearing this chapter! I can't wait to hear what y'all think about it! Thanks to everyone who's reviewed, faved, and followed! Y'all are awesome! :D**

 **Chapter 6**

Clarke fought the urge to scream, cuss, and pull her hair out. She'd worked at Grounders nearly all day, had yet to see Bellamy, and she'd missed the bus. Her day had been less than stellar, and she smelled like she'd been dunked in coffee- kinda looked like it too…

She could imagine the fight she was going to have when she got home and Bellamy discovered that she'd walked home in the dark. It wasn't going to be pleasant, but what else could she do?

She kicked a can, watching as it rolled until a large boot stopped it. Clarke looked up at the man, his leering smile making her stomach churn. She backed up, ready to run, but she hit a wall.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing out so late, alone," the man cooed, advancing.

Clarke couldn't speak, she felt like her fear was choking her and there was no escape. She fumbled with her phone, trying to dial Bellamy's number. She needed him, and she just wanted him here.

"I don't think you need that," the man said, prying the phone from her shaking hands.

"Give it back," Clarke ordered, a slight waiver in her voice, "Let me go."

"No, I don't think we're quite finished yet," he said, his dirty hand brushing her cheek.

She closed her eyes, trying not to cry. The street was deserted, and this was a bad side of town. It wasn't like anyone would stop to help even if they did hear her screams.

Clarke jerked when he took her chin in hand, his hot breath wafting across her face. She thought she would gag, the stench of stale beer churning her stomach. She began to struggle, begging him to just let her go. She'd nearly lost all hope when a low growl rumbled from the shadows.

A big red dog stalked into the light, teeth bared and hackles raised. He seemed to know that she was in trouble, eyeing her captor with shining blue eyes. The man kicked at it, and the dog immediately latched onto his leg with a fierce snarl.

"Get off me," the man yelled, howling in pain.

The dog held on, growling and snarling, his muzzle smeared with blood. Clarke new she should run, but she was frozen with fear. She watched in terror as the man struck the dog, its grip loosening just enough for him to run.

She stood there with the dog, both of them out of breath. She looked down at it, fur patchy and scars littering its body.

"Thank you," she whispered, reaching out a tentative hand to pet him.

He gave a low growl, but didn't move. She ran a gentle hand over the mottled coat, the dog slowly relaxing beneath her touch.

Just then a car pulled up, and Clarke had never been so happy to see a cop car in her life. She sighed in relief as a young policeman she knew only as Sterling quickly exited the car and came to where she stood.

"Are you alright, Clarke," he asked, "Do you need me to take you to the hospital?" He was reaching out to touch her until the dog gave a warning growl.

"No," Clarke shook her head, "I just want Bellamy."

"Alright," Sterling nodded, "I'll call animal control, and they'll take care of the dog."

"No," she cried, "He's coming with me."

"Ok," Sterling said, eyeing the animal warily.

Clarke opened the back door, turning to find the dog staring at her. She didn't know how she was going to get him in there, but she couldn't just leave him- not after he'd saved her life.

"Come on," she said, pointing to the backseat.

The dog seemed to think for a moment before he lumbered over to the car and climbed into the back. She triumphantly shut the door, giving Sterling a watery smile before climbing into the passengers seat.

"Do you want to call Bellamy, tell him where you are?"

Clarke shook her head; she didn't feel like arguing at the moment. The logical part of her brain told her that he would be worried, but as scared as she was logic wasn't winning out.

When they pulled up to the apartment, Bellamy was waiting outside. He looked terrible, and Clarke felt terrible. She should have called, but she wasn't thinking straight.

The car stopped, and Bellamy wrenched open the door- staring down at her with a look of fear she hoped to never see again.

"What happened," he addressed Sterling.

"I'm not sure," Sterling replied, "she hasn't said much."

"Are you ok, Princess," Bellamy asked softly.

Clarke nodded.

"Thanks Sterling, I've got it from here," Bellamy said as he gently helped Clarke from the car.

He tried to lead her to the building, but Clarke stopped him. She ran back to the car, and opened the back door to let the dog out.

"What is that," Bellamy said, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

"This is…uh this is…" Clarke thought for a moment before she smiled, "This is Murphy. He saved me."

Bellamy sighed, staring up at the dark night sky. He rubbed a hand down his face in obvious frustration before he turned back to stare at her. She could see the battle waging behind his eyes, and she knew he wanted to say no.

"Alright, but just for tonight," Bellamy caved.

He led the way up to the apartment, her hand held tightly in his. When the door was closed, it finally hit Clarke what could have happened. Her breath came in choking gasps as she began to sob, clinging to Bellamy like a drowning woman.

"You're safe," Bellamy told her, hugging her close.

Murphy sniffed around until finally going to lay down near Clarke's bedroom door. Bellamy hated to say it, because that dog was not what he had in mind, but he had a feeling they would be keeping him.

"What happened," he asked when Clarke's tears had waned.

"I missed the bus and was walking home-"

"What," Bellamy roared, bringing Murphy to his feet with a low growl.

"I didn't want to bother you," Clarke sniffled.

"Princess," Bellamy crooned, pulling her into his arms once more, "It's not a bother to keep you safe. I like doing things for you, it's what friends do."

"I know," Clarke sighed, "I'm just stubborn."

"So you were walking home, what happened next?"

"A man stopped me," she shivered remembering the stranger, "I tried to call you, but he took my phone. He had me trapped until Murphy showed up and bit him."

Bellamy looked over at the dog, the scruffy animal once again settled near her door. The mutt looked rough, like it'd been on the street far too long. Its ribs were clearly visible, and he fought the urge to grimace when he thought about the fleas he knew must be hopping around the apartment that very momnet.

"Can we please keep him," Clarke whispered, "I know he's not perfect, but he did save me…"

Bellamy smiled, "Yeah, we can keep him, but he's getting a bath. There's no telling where that thing has been."

Clarke gave a delighted squeal, hugging Bellamy tightly, "Thanks Bell."

"You're welcome, now help me get your dog clean."

They spent the next hour getting Murphy clean, the dog growling continually as they scrubbed the dirt and grime from his coat. Clarke even sacrificed an old hairbrush so they could get the tangles out of his fur.

When they'd finished, Murphy gave a long suffering sigh before going back to his post at Clarke's door.

"We'll go to the store tomorrow and pick up some things for him," Bellamy said as he brushed the hair from his clothes.

"What are we going to feed him tonight," Clarke asked, "He looks half starved."

"We've got some bologna left, he can have some of that to tide him over," Bellamy shrugged.

As it turned out, Murphy loved bologna. He scarfed it down, and would have taken more if they'd offered it but Bellamy was afraid of making him sick.

"That'll be enough for tonight," he said as he washed his hands at the kitchen sink.

"He seems happy," Clarke grinned, peering around the corner at where the dog had moved to the couch.

"He should," Bellamy grumbled, "He's been treated like a little canine king…"

Clarke laughed before hugging Bellamy again, "Thank you, Bellamy, for letting me keep him."

Bellamy hugged her, "You're welcome. Now we'd better get to bed, or I'm not going to want to get up for work tomorrow."

"Goodnight," Clarke called as she headed to her room, patting Murphy's head as she passed.

Bellamy stared after her, a fond smile curving his lips, "Goodnight, Princess."

Four hours later Bellamy was awakened by a low growl, his eyes popping open.

"What do you want, mutt," he glowered, turning away from the dog.

Murphy would have none of it, jumping against the mattress and shaking the whole bed.

"Stop, dog," Bellamy grumbled, "Go to sleep."

Murphy barked, nudging him in the back until he final sat up.

"Fine, what do you want," Bellamy hissed angrily.

It was then he heard Clarke, a note of terror in her voice. He jumped up, running for her room with Murphy on his heels. He found her in the throes of a nightmare, screaming his name.

He gently cupped her face; brushing her tears away with his thumbs, "Wake up, Princess. I'm right here."

Her eyes fluttered open, bright with her tears, "I was so scared, Bellamy."

Her tears were his undoing. He crawled into bed beside her, pulling her to him.

"You're safe," he whispered, "I won't let anyone hurt you."

"I know," Clarke whispered just before exhaustion blanketed her in sleep.

100100100100100100100

It was a Thursday night, and Clarke was watching Bellamy cook as she snuck bits of bologna to the dog when he wasn't looking. The whole apartment smelled like Juan's Cantina, and her mouth was watering at the mere thought of her best friend's fajitas.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," Bellamy grumbled.

"You've been putting off dinner with your sister since her impromptu visit," Clarke grinned, "Now's as good a time as any…"

"You feed that dog all of our bologna and I'm not buying anymore," Bellamy growled.

Clarke should have been offended, but she just shrugged, "I'll buy the next package."

Even though his back was turned, she could just imagine Bellamy's eye roll. She knew he was nervous, and when he was on edge he got a bit grumpy. Truth be told the thought of two hours with Octavia Blake made her a bit grumpy too.

At the sound of the doorbell Clarke hopped up from the kitchen table and padded on bare feet to the door. Murphy's toenails clicked on the hardwood floor as he followed growling all the way. He wasn't the happiest dog, and he didn't like to be petted, but he was content as long as there was food.

She opened the door to find a smiling Lincoln and a scowling Octavia, a pan of brownies in hand. Clarke scanned the other woman's leopard print blouse, black leggings, brown booties, and gaudy gold jewelry. Looking down at her cutoff shorts and Bellamy's sweatshirt, Clarke realized that she came underdressed to her own dinner party.

She'd thought she had told Bellamy to tell them it was casual, but undoubtedly casual wasn't in Octavia's vocabulary. Oh well, she wasn't going to change. Bellamy was just as underdressed in his jeans, dark blue NYPD t-shirt, and bare feet so she wasn't alone.

"Come in," Clarke smiled, hoping that it didn't look forced.

She watched as Octavia scanned their apartment, obviously noticing the new furniture. She moved to take the brownies, but stopped when the other woman hugged the expensive Pampered Chef dish to her chest.

"Well just make yourself at home, I'm going to go see how dinner is coming," Clarke said before making a hasty retreat into the kitchen.

"Had all the fun you could stand," Bellamy asked, one eyebrow raised mockingly.

"I thought I told you to tell them that this was casual," Clarke whisper-yelled.

"I thought I did," Bellamy replied, nose scrunched as he peaked around the corner, "Obviously they don't know what casual means…."

"Should I change," Clarke wondered aloud, grimacing, "I should change, shouldn't I?"

"No one is changing," Bellamy hissed, "I'm not putting on a monkey suit to eat with my sister."

"Good because I didn't want to change anyway," Clarke shrugged with a sigh, "Are the fajitas almost done?"

"Yes, now go swipe those brownies or tell her to put them down. She's making me nervous," Bellamy grumbled, turning back to the stove.

Clarke rolled her eyes then took a moment to straighten her shoulders and plaster the biggest smile she could muster. This had been her idea, and she was paying dearly for it.

"Here let me take that for you," she said wrestling the dish from Octavia's unwilling grasp, "I think Bell said that dinner is ready, so we can eat."

Clarke ignored Octavia's dramatic huff, leading the way into the kitchen and setting the brownies on the counter. Bellamy didn't even look at his sister as he put the food on the table, choosing a seat beside Clarke and as far away from Octavia as possible.

"Who's hungry," Clarke asked lamely.

"I'm starved," Lincoln smiled, filling his plate.

Octavia just glared at the food then at Clarke. It was like she was trying to determine if it was safe to eat.

"Bellamy did a great job, didn't he," Clarke said finally, "He never lets me touch anything because he's convinced that I'll burn down the building."

Octavia just rolled her eyes, but she did take a bite of the fajita before reaching for the chips and salsa. Clarke would have thrown her hands up in defeat, but she just gave Bellamy a look that promised she would never interfere again before stuffing her mouth with food.

After dinner was finished, Clarke helped Bellamy put away the food and they both decided to leave the dishes until later that night. The small awkward group moved into the living room, Murphy taking his place at Clarke's feet when she sat at the very end of the couch.

She thought it would be a safe place. Octavia wouldn't choose to sit beside her, and she wouldn't get stuck having to sit beside Octavia. She gave Bellamy a forced smile, which he returned as he plopped down beside her.

He looked tired; bone weary, and Clarke couldn't help but think that this had been too much too soon. She felt bad for suggesting it, but she just hadn't wanted him to lose his family like she had. Bellamy was a man who needed family, unlike her.

"Bellamy, Clarke tells me that you're quite the art enthusiast," Lincoln said with a kind smile.

Bellamy was leaning forward, ready to reply, when Octavia sniffed, "Bellamy, an art enthusiast? He loves history not art."

Clarke didn't miss the pointed look Octavia sent her way, the barb clearly evident and clearly meant for her.

"Yeah I guess I should set you straight on that one then," Bellamy finally replied, "I'm only enthusiastic about Clarke's art."

For a minute Clarke was about ready to bolt, but the sickingly sweet tone of his voice made her smile. A smile that only widened when Octavia got up and grabbed for her purse.

"Well I have to be at work early in the morning, I think we should head home."

Lincoln nodded, "I'll see you tomorrow at the gallery, Clarke."

"Bye, have a save trip home," she called after them.

Bellamy sighed, getting up to hug his sister when she stood- staring at him expectantly. Clarke could tell that he hugged her tight, tighter than he'd meant to. He really did love his little sister, he just didn't trust her not to reject him again.

"I love you, big brother," Octavia murmured- affectively making Clarke's previous promise not to meddle null and void. No matter how much the other woman might dislike her, she wanted what was best for Bellamy.

"Goodnight, Octavia," Clarke called before the door slammed shut.

She watched as Bellamy fell back on the couch, tucking his face in the bend of his arm. His sigh was dramatic and exhausted, but he seemed a bit lighter. She attributed that to his finally getting this behind him.

"Well that went well," she smiled, sinking down beside him.

Clarke wasn't shocked when he pulled her to him and buried his face in her hair. He was quiet for a moment before he chuckled, tickling her side.

"That was the most awkward dinner I've ever had!"

Clarke laughed right along with him, "Me too, and I've had some awkward dinners…"

Bellamy just hummed contentedly, his fingers toying with the ends of her hair. She could tell he was lost in thought, and she didn't really have the energy to pull him back to reality. So, she just sat there as her eyelids grew heavier and heavier.

"Princess," his breath tickled her ear, and she swatted at him.

"What," Clarke grumbled.

"You fell asleep."

"Mmmm," she hummed sleepily, still not opening her eyes.

She felt him lift her like she weighed no more than a feather, his foot bumping her door softly before she found herself pillowed by her mattress. He pressed a kiss to her temple, and then he was gone. She rolled over, half expecting him to climb in beside her at any moment but he didn't.

The nights were getting colder, and Clarke really hadn't noticed because Bellamy was a furnace. However, at the moment she was freezing and he was nowhere to be found. She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the darkened room, huffing as she grabbed her pillow and crawled out of bed.

She padded to his room, hesitating at his door. She didn't know if she should knock or if she was allowed to just get in bed with him like he did with her. She argued going back to bed for several minutes, but then she found herself pushing on his door.

A small halo of light shone from the lamp beside his bed, his dark eyes looking up from his book as she stood awkwardly in his doorway.

"Clarke are you ok," Bellamy asked, quickly setting aside his book.

"Yeah, I just…" she trailed off, suddenly embarrassed.

"You just what," he asked.

"I couldn't sleep and I was going to sneak into bed with you," Clarke admitted, her eyes falling to her bare feet.

His chuckle brought her gaze to his and she glared, "What?"

"Come here, Princess," he smiled, throwing back the covers and tossing his extra pillow in the floor.

Clarke sighed, moving forward to settle in beside him. When she was still, her feet brushing his leg, he picked up his book again.

"Will it bother you if I read," Bellamy asked.

"No," Clarke replied, already feeling herself growing drowsy again, "Won't bother me a bit."

"Goodnight, Princess," Bellamy said softly.

She rolled over, scooting closer, "Goodnight, Bellamy."

 **Thanks for reading! Well, what did y'all think of Murphy as a dog? I don't know where I got the inspiration on that one, but I hope it worked for y'all! As always please review! I love hearing from y'all! :)**


	7. Chapter 7

**Well here I am! Sorry it's been so long guys! Although I have a pretty awesome excuse** … **I have fallen in love! I've never been in love before, so y'all are gonna have to bear with me as I learn to juggle my life lol It's kinda hard to write when you want to spend every waking moment with a gorgeous guy who makes you feel like you're the best thing since sliced bread ;) So, yeah lately reality has been way better than any fiction I could ever write! I'm gonna try to start writing more on my days off while my Love is at work because the minute he clocks out I'm headed to meet him! Anyway, if you've made it through my long excuse for disappearing for over a month then I hope you enjoy the chapter!**

 **Chapter 7**

Clarke sat with her planner open, a cup of coffee and a Danish within easy reach. She'd been planning Bellamy's birthday for about two weeks now, and things had been going smoothly until Octavia called her this morning and said she wanted in on the festivities.

She hadn't had the heart to tell her that everything had already been decided, the cake was ordered, and she was going to pick up his present that afternoon. Lately there'd been a tentative peace between them, and Bellamy was pleased, so she was trying to maintain that peace at all costs.

So when Octavia called, Clarke didn't hesitate when she agreed to meet the other woman at Grounder's. Bellamy had smiled as she'd left, muttering something about his two favorite women finally getting along.

She didn't see that he had much room to talk. He and his sister had only been on good terms for about a week and a half, but having family again did something for him that even Clarke admitted she'd not been able to do. She knew he and Octavia had been close, but he'd just recently begun to really open up about his life and his Mom.

He'd told her how Aurora Blake didn't know the men who'd fathered her children, or even if she did she'd taken their names with her to the grave. She'd been a miserable woman, hardened by a hard life. She'd taken that out on her children, and Bellamy had always tried to take the brunt of it.

Clarke would be the first to admit that even though her growing up hadn't always been perfect, it hadn't been that bad. She didn't talk about her family, even though Bellamy asked. Her mom tried to call her several times, but she never answered and she deleted the voice mails. She didn't think Abby Griffin could have anything to say that she might want to hear.

She looked up when someone took the seat in front of her, coming face to face with an unhappy Octavia Blake.

"Hi, Octavia I-" Clarke began before she was cut off.

"Let's just get this over with," Octavia grumbled, "We'll be having the party at my place. I've ordered the cake, sent out the invites, and I've bought his presents. Just get him there by seven."

Clarke felt her mouth fall open, her eyes widen, "What?"

"I planned the party, Clarke," Octavia said, nose in the air, "He's my brother, and I want the best for him."

"But I've had this party planned for two weeks."

Octavia laughed harshly, "Too bad. Have him at my place by seven, and don't try to tattle on me. He's never liked tattle-tales."

Clarke fought the urge to roll her eyes, instead forcing a smile, "Sure, no problem."

"Thanks Clarke," Octavia said, ingenuous and smirking.

After the bell over the door announced Octavia's departure, Clarke sighed, not looking up as Raven took the seat the other woman had vacated.

"What was that about?"

Clarke kept her head bowed, her forehead resting on her folded arms- her voice swallowed by the warmth of her sweater.

"Stop mumbling," Raven said, poking her hair.

"She stole his birthday," Clarke grumbled, raising her head to rest her chin on her fist.

"She what," Raven asked, confused.

"She took over Bellamy's birthday. Now I'm supposed to just get him to her place on time. I guess I should be thankful I'm even invited," she huffed.

Raven chuckled darkly, "You're his best friend, C, that'd be a deal breaker if she didn't invite you. Yeah she's his sister, but you were there when she wasn't."

"I guess you're right," Clarke said, a faint smile tickling her lips, "He does love me."

"Of course he does," Raven smirked.

"Not like that," Clarke grimaced.

"Yes like that, Clarke," Raven insisted, "I've seen the way he looks at you."

"Then stop looking," Clarke hissed.

"Fine," Raven held her hands up in surrender, "Sorry."

"It's ok," Clarke wilted, "I'm the one who should be sorry for jumping down your throat like that. I'm just disappointed."

"I know you are," Raven said softly, reaching for her hand.

Clarke squeezed her friend's hand, then stood and gathered her things. She tried to tamp down her hurt, but she just couldn't help it. She'd wanted to do this for Bellamy, and Octavia had taken that from her.

"Bye Rae," she called over her shoulder, determined to get Bellamy's gift before heading home.

She might not be able to throw him the perfect party, but she could definitely get him the perfect gift. She opted for a taxi, intending to load the TV into the trunk if she could. She'd ordered the gift days ago, all she had to do now was pick it up.

The stop at the electronics store was a quick one. Two teenage boys helped her get it loaded, their bright polo shirts shining in the afternoon sun. They both looked like an aspiring Steve Jobs, and she couldn't help but smile at their enthusiasm to help.

"Have a nice day, Miss Griffin," they called after her as she waved.

Clarke knew she was going to have to bribe the taxi driver to get him to help her, but Bellamy was worth it. As he pulled to a stop she was reaching for more money, ready to beg if need be, when she spotted Miller leaning against the NYPD patrol car.

"Hey Nate," she called, her shoulders slumping in relief as he made his way over.

"What's up," he asked smiling.

"Can you help me get Bellamy's birthday present up to the apartment?"

Miller looked from her to the TV, and then back again. She could tell he was weighing his options before he finally gave in. She knew he would be regretting it when they finally made it to the top of the stairs, but there was no way she was getting it up there by herself.

"Why did you have to pick an apartment on the third floor," Miller huffed later when they'd finally lugged the heavy box up three flights of stairs.

"Bellamy asked me the same question," Clarke said trying to catch her breath, "I'll tell you the same thing I told him- I didn't get to pick the apartment."

"Are you going to drape something over it," Miller asked.

"Yeah, and I've got a bow too," Clarke grinned, rushing to her room and coming back with a bright red bow.

"He's going to love it," Miller said, throwing her an excited smile, "What time does the party start?"

"Seven, but it's at Octavia's place. She decided she wanted to do the honors, so I bowed out," Clarke shrugged, "She's his sister, it wasn't like I could say no."

"Say no to what," Bellamy asked from behind her.

Clarke jumped, trying to cover the TV with her body, "Nothing! Geez, Bell! Why do you have to scare me like that?!"

Bellamy stared at her oddly, trying to see around her to what she was hiding, "I just got home. What's Miller doing here?"

"He was helping me with something," Clarke replied cryptically.

"Did someone follow you home? Were you attacked again," Bellamy raged, "I swear I'm never letting you out of my sight again!"

"Bellamy," Clarke finally got his attention, "I just needed him to help me move something. You weren't home yet, and I was impatient."

"Worst liar ever," Miller silently mouthed with a roll of his eyes.

Clarke glared at him before turning back to Bellamy, "You need to get cleaned up. We're having dinner with your sister at her place."

"I don't remember agreeing to that," Bellamy's brown eyes narrowed.

"Oh stop, you know you're not mad at her anymore."

"Maybe not, but I'm tired," he whined.

"We can both rest tomorrow, it's our day off- except for my art class."

"Fine," he puffed out his cheeks and stuck out his tongue- a signature Bellamy Blake show of annoyance.

"You're such a baby," Clarke grinned, quickly tossing one of the blankets from the couch over the TV while his back was turned.

"What are you still doing here, Miller," Bellamy growled, suspicious as he slowly turned back around as though he'd only just noticed him.

"We had lunch," Clarke lied.

"I thought you had lunch with O," he replied, brow wrinkling.

"No we just had coffee. Miller invited me out for lunch," Clarke shot an adoring look at the other man, begging him to just go along with it.

Miller looked between them, Clarke's beseeching stare and Bellamy's angry nostril flares…

"Sorry, Clarke. I don't want to die," he shrugged before turning back to Bellamy, "I saw her trying to carry something heavy up to the apartment, so I offered to help. I'm still on patrol, unlike someone I know who got off early because Kane has a soft spot for him."

Bellamy let the last part slide, instead concentrating on Clarke, "What's he talking about?"

She tried to think up some excuse, anything, but nothing would come. She finally gave up, pulling the blanket back with a huff.

"This was supposed to be your surprise when we got home tonight, but since Miller is a chicken, I'll just have to give it to you now," Clarke finished with a grin as his eyes began to widen.

Bellamy rushed to the box, a wide smile splitting his face, "When did you do this?"

"Today, obviously," Clarke chuckled.

"Well I know that, but how did you get the money," he asked, the smile falling from his face.

"My paintings are doing really well at the gallery," Clarke shrugged, "I've just saved for a little while."

She watched as Bellamy's smile returned and he pulled her into a gentle hug.

"Thanks Princess," he whispered, pulling back to grin at her.

"You're welcome, now let's get to your sister's," Clarke winked, pecking him on the cheek.

"I'm just gonna…" Miller motioned to the door.

"Thanks Nate," Clarke called after him.

Bellamy chuckled, "Now I really don't want to go to O's."

"Well let's go so we can get back," Clarke said, trying to keep her own apprehension at bay.

She went to her room, changed clothes, and then met Bellamy back in the living room. She was quiet in the taxi, and he definitely noticed. He would glance over at her and frown, but he never said a word.

When they got to Octavia's Bellamy walked through the door, not even bothering to knock. They'd rung the doorbell the first time they'd come, but he didn't do that anymore. He'd grown up in this house and he said it felt weird to knock.

As the door swung open, Clarke realized she should have warned him. A roar of "Surprise!" erupted, and she wished Octavia had taken a moment to think about Bellamy. With his PTSD, loud noises were not a good thing- especially unexpected ones.

She felt herself shoved backwards, his movements frantic as he tried to shield her body with his.

"Get down, Clarke," he yelled, reaching for weapons he didn't have.

She hit the door causing it to slam shut, and he was still trying to drag her to the ground- to safety. Her shoulder ached, but it was nothing serious. She was more worried about Bellamy.

Everyone stared at them with wide eyes as he huddled on the floor trying to protect her from an invisible enemy. She took a deep breath, ignoring the stares. Bellamy was on top of her, his face buried in her hair, hands over his ears and eyes shut tight. It was like he was waiting for an explosion.

Clarke maneuvered herself where she could gently grip his wrists, giving them a soft tug. His eyes cracked open, haunted with terror. She began to tenderly massage his inner wrists, keeping constant eye contact.

"We're safe," she breathed.

"We're safe," he repeated, eyes locked with hers.

She kept up her ministrations until he began to come back to himself, red creeping up his neck to stain his cheeks. She hated that he'd been embarrassed like that. She felt guilty, she should have warned him.

Clarke helped him up, smiling softly, "Are you ok?"

"Yeah," he said gruffly, staring at the crowd of people.

"Bell, I'm so sorry," Octavia said, contrition written clearly in her dark eyes.

Clarke was angry. Did the woman care for no one but herself? It should have been a no brainer that a surprise party wouldn't have been the best idea. Bellamy didn't like anything unexpected, and she suspected that didn't just start with his PTSD.

"It's fine," Bellamy said, still embarrassed.

"I'm hungry," Clarke said, "Let's eat some cake."

Bellamy took a deep breath, letting it out slowly until he seemed steadier. She entwined her fingers with his, earning a grateful smile. The crowd broke up, the deafening silence giving way to quiet chatter.

Clarke led the way to the kitchen, getting Bellamy a glass of punch and a piece of cake. She settled him at the breakfast nook in the corner of the room, away from prying eyes and the noise. He sank down, pale and shaking.

"Here," she said as she sat down in front of him.

She found he needed something to focus on, and focusing on her had always worked in the past. He thanked her softly, taking a long drink of punch before forking a tiny bite of cake into his mouth.

"I'm so sorry," Octavia said again, wringing her hands.

"It's fine, Octavia," Bellamy said, his voice cracking and cold.

"I should've known better," she whispered.

Bellamy looked like he wanted to go home, but Clarke knew he wouldn't. She waited with him until he seemed better, then Octavia pulled her away. She could tell the younger woman was angry, but she hadn't known that anger was directed at her until they reached the pantry.

The door shut, and then Octavia turned on her.

"Why didn't you tell him," she raged.

Clarke stumbled back, shocked, "I didn't know that's what you had in mind."

That brought Octavia's rant to a halt, until she found something else to harp about.

"He's not any better. He's worse since he's been with you. You make him worse," Octavia hissed.

"This isn't something he's going to be cured from, Octavia," Clarke was struggling for control of her own anger, "This is something that will always be with him to some extent."

"He doesn't need you. You're not his family."

Clarke sighed, "Octavia what is this really about?"

"Stay away from my brother!"

"He's my roommate," Clarke retorted, "That'd be kinda hard."

"Then move out! Find a new place, or better yet kick him out so he'll move back home," Octavia was almost hysterical.

"No," Clarke could feel herself slipping, "I'm not going to do that. Bellamy moved out for a reason."

"I can make him hate you," Octavia said, low and hateful, "You may think he cares for you, but I'll always come first."

Clarke felt her heart plummet. As much as she wanted to refute it, she knew there was a measure of truth to it. Octavia was Bellamy's sister; he would always love her more.

Clarke's shoulders sagged as she turned to the door, "Go ahead. Do your worst."

She didn't wait for an answer, she really didn't need one. She was sick of Octavia and her drama. How selfish could one girl be? She shook her head, marching to where Bellamy now sat talking to Miller.

Clarke didn't want to look like a tattletale, but this was the last straw. She didn't want to lose Bellamy, and she didn't want him to be caught in the middle of whatever feud Octavia started when she didn't follow orders.

"Bellamy," she began, ignoring Miller, "I need-"

"I'm so glad you and O are getting along," he sighed tiredly, "The girl crap was getting old."

Clarke felt like she'd just been doused with cold water. He'd refused to even speak to his sister a month ago. She'd been the one to encourage him to reach out, and now she regretted it. She couldn't tell him now; it would just make her look petty.

"Yeah, me too," she said lamely, kicking Miller under the table when he opened his mouth to speak.

"Not cool," Nate huffed, crossing his arms.

"Are you ok now," Clarke asked Bellamy.

"Yeah," he answered, sounding like his old self.

"Ok, I'm going to mingle a bit."

"Have fun, Princess," Bellamy smirked before turning back to his cake.

Clarke couldn't remember when she'd been in a worse mood. She'd been happier since she'd moved to New York, but now not so much. She wandered to the living room, searching for an abandoned corner where she could sit in peace.

She found a chair, sinking down onto it like the weight of the world burdened her shoulders. She wanted to believe that Bellamy would never believe Octavia, but she didn't have that guarantee. She would just have to hope, and hope was in short supply in her life.

She stared down into her punch, like she was searching for the answers to all of life's questions. She felt a presence beside her, and she just assumed it was Bellamy.

"Go back to the party," she snipped, her head jerking up at a deep chuckle.

"What if I don't want to," the voice rang with an odd familiarity.

Clarke's gaze shifted to the man beside her, her eyes trailing down the length of his body unapologetically. Vibrant blue eyes darker than hers stared back at her, his wavy brown hair cropped short- though she had the feeling he would prefer it much longer. He was tall, taller than Bellamy, the breadth of his shoulder making his grey t-shirt stretch tight over his chest.

"What are you doing here," she asked, immediately recognizing him as the hot guy she'd ogled in Grounder's not too long ago.

"Well, Clarke with an 'e'," he waggled his eyebrows, "I work with the birthday boy. What are you doing here?"

"Birthday Boy's roommate," Clarke deadpanned, crossing her arms.

"I've heard a lot about you," he smirked.

"I'm sure," Clarke huffed, turning back to search the crowd for Bellamy.

She'd known men like this one, and she knew enough to know he wasn't her type. Unfortunately she seemed to be his.

"Roan," he said suddenly breaking her from her thoughts.

"What," Clarke frowned, facing him again.

"My name," Roan chuckled.

"Nice to meet you," Clarke rolled her eyes, "Don't you have someone else to entertain you?"

"Eh, probably," he shrugged, "but no one as fun as you."

"Oh joy," Clarke grumbled.

"See that girl over there," Roan said, pointing out a woman in a tight pink dress and dark brown curls.

"Yeah," Clarke said, not knowing where he was going with this.

"She's a foot model."

"How do you know that," Clarke's face crinkled in confusion.

"And that guy," he pointed out a man laughing loudly and sloshing his drink onto his shoe.

"What about him," Clarke asked, slightly intrigued, though she'd never admit it.

"He's her secret lover, a podiatrist," Roan said with a shake of his head.

Clarke just stared at him for a moment before bursting out laughing, "Where did you come up with that?"

"I made it up," he chuckled, "Now you try."

Clarke soon lost track of time as they laughed at the other party guests, making up stories about them. Roan was clearly the expert, and her sides hurt from laughing so much.

She was mid cackle when she caught Bellamy's gaze, noticing the slight frown etching his features when he saw her with Roan. He excused himself from the group he'd been chatting with, moving across the room stomping his feet.

"Roan," he greeted icily when he came to a stop before turning to Clarke, "Are you ready to head home?"

"Yep," Clarke replied with a nod, taking the coat he magically produced from behind his back, "I've got class in the morning. We're starting early because Charlie has a doctor's appointment."

"Nothing serious I hope," Bellamy said with immediate concern.

"He's just getting wart removed," Clarke chuckled, "Don't ask for details because believe me they're gruesome."

Bellamy chuckled, and Roan looked from one to the other.

"You two make a cute couple," he sounded disappointed.

"Oh we're not-" Clarke began before Bellamy gripped her arm.

"Nice talking to you Roan," Bellamy said, with the fakest smile Clarke had ever seen.

Clarke waved at Roan over her shoulder, not bothering to correct Bellamy. She hated it because she knew how he saw her. She was like another little sister to protect, another responsibility.

The cold rush of air was a welcome relief to her warm cheeks as she struggled to push her thoughts to the back of her mind. The crowded house had become unbearably warm, and she'd felt like the walls were closing in. She was ready to be home- ready for peace and quiet.

Bellamy was quiet in the cab; his head resting against the seat. He looked exhausted, a lot like how she felt. He sighed deeply, his eyes cracking open as he gave her a long sideways look.

"That was a disaster," he said, a deep exhale upsetting a few dark curls on his forehead.

"But we survived," Clarke smiled, patting his shoulder.

"You almost didn't," he said wryly, "I nearly smashed you against the door. How's your shoulder?"

"Probably bruised, but I'll live," she said softly, knowing he would beat himself up over it and wishing he wouldn't.

"I'm sorry," his dark eyes roamed to the ceiling of the cab.

"Not your fault," she tried to reassure him, "I just wish I would have thought to warn you."

"This isn't your fault either. It's no ones fault."

Clarke begged to differ, but she wasn't about to say that, "I'm just ready to be home."

"Me too. That TV has been calling my name since we left," Bellamy chuckled.

He paid the cabby when they came to a stop, and reached back to help her out of the car. She expected him to let go of her hand, but his fingers remained tangled with hers as they walked to the building and then up the stairs.

Clarke couldn't help her smirk as he rushed for the box, Murphy's tail whapping against the floor in greeting. She went to her room to change, and came back to find Bellamy tinkering with the TV and the dog lying in the discarded box.

"How's it coming," she asked, sinking down onto the sofa.

"Almost got it," Bellamy said, victory clear in his voice as the TV flashed to life.

She clapped, he bowed, and Murphy whined. They made quite the trio, but Clarke couldn't think of anywhere she would rather be as Bellamy grabbed the remote and plopped down on the couch.

He'd just settled on the History Channel when the raspy warbling began. Murphy howled painfully, and Clarke just watched as Bellamy grit his teeth.

"I thought you said she had tonsillitis," he growled.

"She did," Clarke shrugged, "We had two weeks of quiet."

"We're about to have two more," he hissed, jolting to his feet.

For a minute she thought he was going to bed, but when he stomped for the door she knew they were in trouble.

"Now Bell, you can't-"

"Watch me," he cut her off, reaching for the door.

Clarke debated internally for a moment before jumping up to follow. She knew they looked a sight- him in his white undershirt and slacks; her in a pair of short fluffy flannel shorts and one of his t-shirts, and Murphy slinking along behind them.

She didn't know how Bellamy's stomping didn't awaken the whole building. He stopped outside the fourth floor apartment, the screeching even louder here. He pounded on the door, and Clarke was slightly embarrassed when she saw the doors begin to open- bleary-eyed tenants glaring at them.

"Bell, maybe we could just call the precinct?"

"They guys will laugh me out of the city if we do that," he grumbled, "No, we are ending this now!"

Clarke rolled her eyes, cursing his male pride. She heard the high-pitched trilling stop, the door opening just a crack to reveal a young woman with long brown hair and bright green eyes.

"We're sorry," Clarke said before Bellamy could speak.

He glared at her, then turned back to Opera woman, "Your singing is disruptive."

"Bellamy," Clarke hissed, elbowing him in the ribs.

"What," he growled, "It's true."

The woman stared at them oddly, "I'm sorry if I disturbed your husband," she looked around Bellamy to Clarke.

"Oh he's not-" Clarke began before Bellamy cut her off.

"Would you mind singing during the day, maybe when I'm not here?"

Clarke wanted to sink into the floor like Casper because this was just too embarrassing…

"I'm Lexa," the woman smiled, and something about her made Clarke's skin crawl. Was this place filled with nothing but weirdoes? What did that say about her….?

"Lexa," It was Bellamy's turn to roll his eyes, "If you don't stop with your screeching then I'm going to have to charge you with disrupting the peace."

"Who died and made you the NYPD," Lexa snapped.

Clarke gripped the back of his t-shirt as his muscles tensed. This just kept getting better and better.

Bellamy pulled his badge from his back pocket, and Clarke wasn't surprised that he carried it everywhere. Bellamy was one of those 'always on the clock' guys. He might go home, but that didn't mean he wasn't still on duty…

"Detective Blake, NYPD," he said coldly, his lips quirked in a feral smirk.

Clarke was suddenly smiling, "Bell, you didn't tell me you'd been promoted to detective!"

She impulsively hugged him from behind, feeling his taught muscles relax just a smidge.

"Not the time to celebrate, Princess," he grumbled.

"Princess? That's cute," Lexa laughed, a rusty, toxic sound.

Clarke had a feeling the woman was mocking them, or maybe she was having a relapse of tonsillitis.

"We're sorry for bothering you," Clarke said, grabbing Bellamy's hand and Murphy's collar. The dog had started growling the minute Lexa opened the door and hadn't stopped yet.

"Don't apologize Clarke," Bellamy scolded.

"Fine I take it back," Clarke huffed, her anger flaring to life.

"Well I didn't except it, so…"

"Butt out," Bellamy and Clarke grumbled in unison causing Lexa to take a step back- raising her hands in surrender.

"It's official, you two lunatics deserve each other," she snapped before slamming the door.

Clarke looked around, watching as the other doors quietly closed. She then peered sheepishly up at Bellamy, his expression mirroring hers, until they both burst out laughing.

"What was that," he asked as they walked back to the apartment, Murphy in tow.

"I have no idea," Clarke chuckled, "but please promise me you won't try to confront any more crazy neighbors!"

"Did you see their faces," he laughed, "We're the crazy neighbors."

Clarke smirked, "We were a little crazy…"

"Let's go back to our own apartment and enjoy that TV," Bellamy said as he slung an arm over her shoulders.

"Best idea you've had all night," Clarke grinned.

 **Thanks for reading! As always reviews are much appreciated! What did y'all think about Lexa? Yay or Nay…? I'm trying to find a balance for introducing characters, and as a die hard BELLARKE fan I could totally see her being the thorn in Bellamy's side lol**


	8. Chapter 8

**Well it's been a while guys! To those who've hung in there thank you so much! I'm sorry I've kept you waiting so long, but life has been so hectic lately. I hope you enjoy the chapter! If it's terribly jarbled then I'm terribly sorry!**

 **Chapter 8**

Clarke shook her head with a smile as her students filed out of the room, hands smudged with charcoal and softly bickering among themselves. Charlotte threw her a smile before letting the door shut quietly, leaving Clarke to clean up in the silent peacefulness she craved after all of the questions she'd endured the past hour.

She stuffed her things in her bag, settling the strap across her chest before slipping her hands into the pocket of Bellamy's hoodie. She had to get home and emotionally prepare herself for the night that lay before her- a grin tilting her lips as she remembered the promise she'd made that morning.

 _Bellamy was running late, which was highly unusual, so he was rushing around like a headless chicken. She followed him around with her bowl of cereal, mumbling around mouthfuls of Cocoa Pebbles- trying not to dribble milk down her chin- Murphy following along behind hoping for a stray glob to fall for him._

 _"You really need a haircut," Clarke leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom, licking the chocolate milk from her spoon._

 _"Do not," Bellamy frowned, trying to tame the unruly curls with gel._

 _"You know if you'd trim that mop you wouldn't have to be a grease monkey," she said wrinkling her nose. She hated when he gelled his hair! It made him look so pretentious!_

 _"What if I like my hair like this," he taunted, turning to face her as he leaned his hip against the bathroom vanity._

 _Clarke tried not to be distracted by the toned muscles of his chest, or the way crossing his arms made his biceps bulge, "If you liked it," she finally managed, "then you wouldn't be grumbling and fumbling around."_

 _"Thanks Dr. Seuss," he rolled his eyes._

 _"I'm just saying," Clarke shrugged, "It wouldn't kill you to get a trim."_

 _"Fine, then you can do it when I get home tonight."_

 _"What happened to your favorite barber," Clarke asked as she rushed after him._

 _"That's why I haven't gotten my hair cut," he muttered as he dug through his dresser looking for one of his pristine white shirts, "My barber retired…"_

 _"Find a new one," Clarke shrugged, "It can't be that hard."_

 _"Says she who never gets her hair cut," he glared over his shoulder._

 _"I trim it myself," she defended._

 _"Exactly," Bellamy replied as his shirt settled over his shoulders, nimble fingers tucking it into his dark blue pants, "That's why you're my new barber."_

 _"But-" she tried to protest before he cut her off._

 _"Nope, it's final," he grinned, "You've already volunteered."_

 _"You and I see volunteering very differently," Clarke grumbled before turning to take her bowl to the kitchen._

 _She rinsed it out, and started filling the sink so she could do the dishes from supper the night before. She had class in about two hours, so she had time to do a little house cleaning before she had to leave._

 _Usually she and Bellamy left at the same time, but he'd been called into work early this morning. He didn't like changes in their routine, so she knew that he wouldn't be happy about her taking the bus by herself to work. Sure she'd done it many times before, but barely a handful of times in the last three months._

 _"Are you sure you'll be ok," Bellamy asked from behind her._

 _"Yeah, I'll be fine," she smiled over her shoulder, submerged to her elbows in soapy water._

 _"Ok, I'll see you tonight," he came forward and kissed her on the forehead, "Call if you need me."_

Clarke was pulled from her musings as she reached the lobby of the gallery, Octavia's angry whispers making her shiver.

"Why does it have to be this opening," Octavia whined.

"Because I've already promised it," Lincoln replied, eyes cast down to the clutter of papers on his desk.

"Bye Lincoln," Clarke called as she rushed by, not wanting to appear as though she were eavesdropping.

"Oh Clarke, just the person I wanted to see," Lincoln flagged her down, "I set a date for your opening. It'll be next week. Don't worry about advertisement; I've been making calls for the past month. My contacts were just waiting on a date."

"Wow, thanks Linc," Clarke smiled, her pleasure dimming at Octavia's scowl.

"You're welcome. I've got a few other new artists lined up, but you're the gallery's main event," he smiled, "Just pick out what you want to show!"

"That's great," she smiled, "I can't wait to tell Bellamy!"

Clarke fought not to cringe when she saw Octavia's reaction to that last bit. The woman had a chip on her shoulder, and unfortunately she had a bad habit of knocking it off. She quickly said her goodbyes, thankful when the cool winter air hit her face.

She walked down to Grounder's, excitement bubbling to the surface once more. Her hard work was finally about to pay off! She pushed through the glass doors, inhaling the scent of freshly ground coffee with a smile.

"What's got you grinning like the cat that got the cream," Raven called as she came around the counter with a tray of steaming cups.

"I'm getting my own show," Clarke practically squealed causing Wick to come lumbering from the back with a look of amused confusion.

"What kind of show are we talking about blondie," he smirked, "Day time TV or did you finally land a roll on one of those cheesy soap operas?"

Raven served her customers and then smacked her husband on the chest before hugging her friend fiercely, "I always knew you'd do it!"

"Thanks Rae," Clarke breathed, "I never thought it would happen."

"You've worked hard, C," Raven replied, "You deserve this."

"Thank you," Clarke blushed.

"You're welcome, now sit down and tell me what pieces you're going to show," Raven said as she dragged her to the old wooden stool behind the counter.

Clarke gave a detailed list, wrapping her hands around the warm cup of creamed coffee Wick deposited in front of her. She'd known the pieces she'd wanted to show from the moment Lincoln had surprised her.

"I hope you're showing that sketch of Bellamy you did," Raven said, waggling her eyebrows.

Clarke chuckled, "That one is definitely going!"

She looked up as the bell above the door jangled and Bellamy entered with Nate. The two were laughing, their cheeks rosy from the cold, and she couldn't help the butterflies that took flight at the sound of Bellamy's deep rumbling laughter.

"Hey Princess," he grinned.

"Hey yourself," Clarke returned, "What are you two doing here so early?"

"Kane had mercy on us," Miller winked.

"What did you do, Blake," Clarke chuckled.

"Bellamy out shot him at the range this morning, and made a deal with the old man that we'd get to head out early if things were slow," Miller shook his head with a smirk.

"Are you ready to take me home so we can take care of his mop," Clarke asked, ruffling Bellamy's curls.

"You're really going to let her do it," Miller gasped.

"Yep, she asked for it," Bellamy shrugged.

"I have a feeling she's going to regret it," Raven snorted, trying to conceal her laughter.

"See these," Clarke said, holding up her hands, "These are artist's hands. If I can sculpt a mini replica of "The Thinker" then I can definitely tackle Bell's hair."

Wick burst out laughing, clapping Bellamy on the shoulder, "Send me a pic when she's done!"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence Kyle," Clarke growled, grabbing Bellamy's hand and giving a good yank, "Come on Blake, you're not getting out of this now."

Bellamy just grinned and allowed her to pull him to his feet. He went willingly, and he remained calm and collected until she had him seated in the kitchen bare chested with a pair of gleaming scissors in her hand.

"You really don't have to do this if you don't want to Clarke," Bellamy cringed at the note of panic in his voice.

"Oh no, I have a reputation to protect here," Clarke said, worrying her bottom lip as she studied his dark curls.

Bellamy thought he would jump from his skin with the first snip, a lock of hair falling to his lap. Soon he relaxed as Clarke began to work, knowing he could just shave his head and start all over if he hated it. He'd worn a buzz cut in the army, so it wasn't like he wasn't used to being nearly bald.

He found quickly that he liked being this close to her while she worked. She was so deep in concentration, her brow furrowing and her nose crinkling as she raked a comb through his hair. Her skin burned into his own as she laid a gentle hand on his shoulder, her fingers trailing across his back as she brushed away bits of hair.

When she finished, she stepped back to admire her work. His hair still held a bit of wave, but it wasn't nearly as unruly as it had been. It was even, no gaps to be seen, so she counted it as a victory.

"Alright, go take a look," she said, shooing him into the bathroom.

Bellamy was hesitant at first, but at first glance he could see that his roommate was a master. His hair fell across his forehead stylishly, no longer an annoyance brushing the tops of his ears.

"You did great, Princess," he breathed in relief.

Clarke laughed, her own relief finally showing in her face, "I'm glad you like it. Now you'll look presentable for my party."

"What party," Bellamy asked, brows furrowed.

"The party Raven is throwing me to celebrate my art show in three months," Clarke shrugged with a grin.

Bellamy spun around, his hands gripping her waist, "Really! You're going to have your first show?!"

Clarke nodded, her smile wide, "Lincoln gave me free rein to choose my own pieces and he seems to believe I'll be a hit."

"Of course you will," Bellamy smiled proudly.

"Will you come," Clarke asked, suddenly shy.

"You couldn't keep me away," Bellamy pecked her on the cheek, "Now let's celebrate!"

100100100100100100100

Clarke sat between Bellamy and Raven, her cheeks stiff from smiling so much. Grounders was practically empty, save for a few friends they'd met after moving to the city. Jasper and Monty were both flirting with a pretty blonde named Harper- Miller watching with a dark frown. It was no secret that he'd been trying to ask her out for weeks.

Just then the door swung open, the bell dinging. She looked up to find Octavia and Lincoln walking in with a pretty dark haired woman. A deep sense of foreboding settled in the pit of her stomach as Bellamy got up to go speak with his sister.

"What are you doing here, O," he asked, slightly aggravated.

"Weren't we invited," Octavia gave an innocent flutter of her dark lashes.

Bellamy rolled his eyes, ignoring his sister to greet Lincoln. However, his attention was arrested once more when Octavia tugged on his sleeve.

"Bell, I'd like you to meet Gina. She's new to the city, and she doesn't have many friends yet. I thought maybe you could show her around."

Bellamy looked at the woman standing beside his sister, her dark eyes so pure and innocent. It was so strange to see someone who lacked the jadedness that he saw in those around him each and every day.

"Sure," he found himself saying as the door jangled again.

Clarke looked away from the odd encounter, a chill racing down her spine when she saw the man standing awkwardly in the doorway.

She'd thought she'd never see him again- that she could put everything behind her. She was wrong though because there stood Finn Collins in the flesh, and he was staring right at her.

 _Why now?_

Her mind raced with what to do, her gaze searching for Bellamy. She found him, back turned, talking to the pretty girl Octavia had brought. She wanted nothing more than to call out to him- her only hope in the suffocating swirl of emotions.

Clarke took a deep breath, feeling as though she were suspended in time. It wasn't fair to Bellamy for her to drag him into this chaos. Her eyes snapped open as she propelled herself from her seat, practically running to grab Finn by the shirtsleeve and drag him out of the café.

"What are you doing here," she hissed angrily.

"I had to see you," he replied, his blue eyes liquid pools of regret.

Clarke felt the familiar rage as it tingled in the tips of her fingers, racing up her arms to engulf her chest.

"I told you to never look for me!"

She jerked away as his hand brushed her arm, the old spark long gone. It was hard to believe that she'd once thrilled at his touch, melted at kiss. Now everything about him disgusted her, and it must've shown on her face because he quickly shoved his hands roughly in his pockets.

"I'm sorry, Clarke. How many times are you going to force me to say that," Finn pled.

"I didn't force you to use me! I didn't force you to make me love you only to find out that I was just your something on the side!"

"You were everything to me, Prin-," Finn began before she cut him off.

"No, don't call me that," Clarke raged, "You don't get to call me that!"

"I'm sorry, Clarke. Please forgive me," he was begging now, sorrow so deeply engrained in his blue eyes she almost felt bad for him…almost.

"No, get away from me Finn. I never want to see you again!"

She turned away from him, unsure where to go. Through the brightened glass she could see Raven's concerned stare, Wick's fisted hands, and Bellamy's back. She didn't know why, but she'd hoped he would be looking- hoped that he would see her pain and come to her rescue- but he was still animatedly conversing with the pretty brunette with soft, innocent eyes.

Clarke was no fool. She knew Bellamy craved peace more than almost anything. He wanted to forget the terror of his past, and the guilt of the things he'd done in the name of survival.

In that moment she came to a dreadful realization. She couldn't give him what he desperately needed. Chaos followed her like a dark, taunting shadow. The best thing she could do for him was let him go.

She turned away; her eyes burning with unshed tears. She was thankful that Finn had gone as she waved down a cab. Waiting only a few moments before a car came to a stop at the curb and she was enveloped by the quiet darkness of the dingy backseat.

She barely registered when the cab came to a halt, woodenly reaching for the fare in her purse before handing over the cash and emerging into the chilled night air, wrapping her coat tighter about her body.

Clarke was numb as she made her way up to the apartment, completely ignoring Earl where he stood leering at the top of the stairs. She leaned against the door, feeling safe and secluded in the dark living room.

Murphy bumped her leg with a whine until she stroked his muddled fur gently. He followed sedately on her heels as she went to her bedroom and changed into a pair of soft pajamas. The dog hesitated only a moment before jumping up on the bed and curling up next to her with a sigh.

She pulled him closer, burying her face in his red coat.

"It's just you and me buddy," she said with a shaky breath, closing her eyes and allowing her tears to fall.

 **Thanks for reading! Please drop me a review! I love hearing from y'all and the critique really helps with the writing process!**


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